


School's Not Out for Summer

by LightofEvolution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Professors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 19:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/pseuds/LightofEvolution
Summary: Professor Hermione Granger has to stay at Hogwarts all summer to teach. At first, she's not very happy about that, but then she and her colleague grow closer.  Should one mention her colleague is Draco Malfoy? Probably...





	1. Exciting Plans

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the Strictly Dramione Summer Loving - Back to Hogwarts Fest.  
> I don't Harry Potter and his world, this is just some creative writing inspired by it, and I don't make any profit from this.  
> I hope you enjoy this story, because I wanted to write professor!Dramione for a long time.
> 
> A giant shout-out to niffizzle, who beta'ed this story. And boy, that was quite a lot of work. But niffizzle patiently shaped my mess into something readable - THANK YOU! All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Also thank you to the lovely MrBenzedrine, Kyonomiko, NeverNik, coyg-81, and LaBelladoneX who encouraged my to participate.

 

“Have a wonderful summer, Professor!” 

 

“Bye, Professor Granger! See you next school year!” 

 

“Enjoy your summer holidays, Professor Granger!” 

 

Hermione managed a, “Thank you, you too!” through her forced smile. 

 

“I’m going to write you a postcard from the Maldives, Professor! By Muggle post! Where should I send it to?” a fifth year girl smiled eagerly at her. 

 

“Hogwarts,” Hermione answered glumly. 

 

She ignored the confused expression on the girl’s face. She couldn’t very well let all of her frustration out on her poor students who had nothing to do with her unfortunate fate. So she ushered the last of her class out of the Charms classroom and walked towards her quarters with a sorrowful sigh. 

 

Summer holidays for her were essentially cancelled. 

 

This may come as a surprise, but despite being an overachiever and workaholic for the majority of her life, even Hermione Granger needed time to unwind every now and then.

 

But seeing as she and her - admittedly favourite - colleague had “volunteered” (meaning: their names had been drawn from the Sorting Hat) to do so, the two of them were tasked to supervise and teach summer school. Originally, this had seemed like quite a good idea from a pedagogical perspective, so she had nodded enthusiastically when the Muggle Studies professor had found the idea in a magazine and presented it during a conference. Only problem was, she hadn’t expected that  _ she _ would be one of the professors staying at Hogwarts and teaching those students who had received either Dreadful or Troll on their O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s, or had spectacularly flunked their end-of-year exams. 

 

For the first time since its opening, the school was offering about fifteen pupils the chance to retake their exams after they spent their holidays in remedial review courses. Muggle schools had been enforcing similar practices for decades, but reforms tended to be very slow in the wizarding world.

 

Didn’t mean Hermione wanted to be a participant and witness their studying.

 

* * *

 

Her mood hadn’t brightened the following morning, especially not after she had said goodbye to the Headmistress.

 

Minerva had left for Tahiti - probably to relax on the beach, cocktail in hand, and a bunch of exotic males seeing to her wishes. She had kissed Hermione goodbye on the cheeks, adding, “I left you a little whisky reserve in my study, my dear. You won a war; you can handle a bunch of students and one adult professor in an isolated castle for a few weeks.” 

 

_ Easier said than done, _ Hermione thought and poured herself some much-needed coffee.

 

“By any chance, do you know a charm that can help us?” Her highly valued colleague sat down next to her, routinely taking the coffee pot from her hands and pouring himself a generous portion of the wondrous liquid - only to add unhealthy amounts of sugar and cream to it. Such a terribly sweet tooth he had.

 

“I do, but I hate to disappoint you. Turning our students into ferrets isn’t  _ actually _ an option.” She didn’t even try to mask the sarcasm from her voice.  

 

He answered with a charming smile, making her morning only an iota better. “Granger, Granger, do I hear bitterness in your delightful voice?” 

 

She rolled her eyes.“Yes. Because, believe it or not, I  _ did  _ have plans for the summer that didn’t include teaching.” 

 

“Research? Writing some papers? A bit of educational travelling and meeting your ‘best friends’?” 

 

Were it not for his teasing tone, she would have socked him on the shoulder, but instead, she tried to figure out when she had become so transparent to Draco Malfoy. Of course, she wouldn’t very well tell him that he was too spot on with his theories.

 

Thankfully, he changed topics. “Be grateful, Granger, that this summer the great Draco Malfoy is by your side. It could be worse than me, right? You could have ended up with a flowery Longbottom or even dear, cheery Severus. I, on the other side, am at least a joy to look at.” 

 

She pretended to ponder something, tilting her head and adopting a far-away expression. 

 

“Ewww, don’t tell me you have a crush on Longbottom!”

 

“Who says I thought about Neville? Maybe it was Severus I dreamt of?” she deadpanned, and Draco almost choked on his richly buttered croissant. 

 

Hermione giggled, glad to have distracted him. Because Draco was right again, he  _ was _ incredibly handsome, and she had caught herself staring at him more than once in the past year since he had started teaching at Hogwarts. And it wasn’t only his exterior that she found appealing. Despite their exchanges consisting of ninety-five per cent teasing and banter, and only five per cent real arguments, they got along surprisingly well. He was well-read, intelligent, and an excellent teacher. 

 

Besides Neville and Severus, he was the only available single, adult male at Hogwarts. And as much as she appreciated the two of them, her relationship with them would always be  _ strictly _ platonic. That, upon reversion, didn’t automatically mean she had to fall for Draco. Not at all.

 

The truth was, Hermione had planned various activities for her summer. There was this article she wanted to write about the combination of arithmancy, charms, and potions. She wanted to visit her parents (and ignore their not-so-subtle hints that they wished her to settle down). She wanted to see Harry, Ginny, and Ron (and maybe Lavender too, on a good day). With her friends came her godchildren, James and Leo, and it was Aunty Hermione’s damn job to spoil them rotten. Also on her list was spending the long summer evenings in the garden of the Burrow with too much wine and hopefully a relaxing tryst with Charlie Weasley. The dragon tamer and she were friends with benefits, nothing more, but she wanted to enjoy those muscles and tattoos and his entire…  _ Charlieness _ . 

 

Sighing, she pulled herself from her fantasy and back to the reality of the Great Hall. The students they were to supervise sat at one round table, the house system making even less sense now. Some of them looked like Hermione felt; others were boisterous and cheery like pupils usually were on holidays. When one boy emptied a carafe of pumpkin juice over a girl’s blonde head, she groaned and looked at her colleague. “Draco? Pour me another coffee, please. Looks like I’m going to need it.”

 

* * *

 

Like Hermione, Draco had imagined his summer differently. Though, his plans were not as different from hers as one might think. He wanted to spend the summer handling the family affairs, catching up with the casual sex he didn’t get throughout the school year, and getting wasted with his friends and a cigar in hand.

 

Settling in his favourite leather armchair next to his personal fireplace, Draco swirled the firewhiskey in its tumbler. He really missed his gentlemen’s time with Blaise and Theo, even with Theo and Daphne being inseparable these days. They were newly engaged and their clinginess was to be expected, or so Draco supposed, having zero experience with long lasting, serious relationships. 

 

But with Daphne came Astoria, and having snogged her heavily during her sister’s engagement party a few weeks ago, he was looking forward to indulging in a bit more of her sweetness in the privacy of his bedroom. Maybe she was the witch he would settle down with? He didn’t know, nor did he plan to actively pursue that road. 

 

As if on cue, his Floo activated, and the face of Blaise Zabini appeared in the flames. Without further introduction or greeting, Blaise started to speak. 

 

“Mate, we expected you to have already stumbled through the Floo by now!” 

 

Draco rolled his eyes, a habit he had adopted from his bushy haired colleague; because, sometimes, an eye-roll conveyed so much more disapproval than a rise of eyebrows. “As much as I want to get wasted with you in your villa in Italy, I’m afraid I have to work.” 

 

“But the school year ended, didn’t it?” 

 

“Blaise,” Draco growled, “are you dating a girl still at Hogwarts?” As much of a ladies’ man as he was, Draco wouldn’t ever consider a girl he teaches. Disgusting! He felt his protective teacher instincts roaring red alert.

 

”Fuck, no! Not even I am that needy!” Blaise retorted. Draco released the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, knowing Blaise wouldn’t lie so blatantly at him. “I saw Snape’s robes billowing on Diagon this morning, so I assumed your year was over.” 

 

“It is,” Draco nodded, “but I’m stuck here. It’s a new concept called summer school. I’m teaching over the summer.” To articulate his role as a teacher out loud was still new to him, even after a year of it. 

 

“Alone?”

That caused him to snort amusedly. “Salazar, no! Granger is here with me.” 

 

“How did that happen?” 

 

Draco shrugged. “Bad luck for both of us, I suppose. Though, she’s not as frenetic as one might expect. We got along quite well over the year.” He didn’t want to tell his friend that he and his brunette colleague got along excellently most days.

 

Blaise looked at him as if he wasn’t right in the head. “You sure you’re not Head of Hufflepuff, are you?” He pondered a while then surmised, “Or is it that you actually don’t mind being stuck in that old castle with a pretty, female professor?” 

 

“Blaise! We’re not having that kind of relationship! We’re colleagues,” Draco replied. Even though he maybe wasn’t entirely truthful here. But that was just between him and his brain, and, sometimes, between him and his cock.

 

“How boring!” Blaise responded, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.

 

“Well, you might not be familiar with this concept, but it’s called growing up!” Draco smiled. 

 

After a bit more small talk, Draco and Blaise said goodnight, and the former started to prepare for bed.

 

He had to work tomorrow, after all.

  
  



	2. Diagnosis is Another Word for Disaster

After another round of highly dosed coffee the following morning, the two professors started what Hermione called ‘diagnosis’. They needed to know exactly where their summer students’ weaknesses lay. A simple, “He trolled the O.W.L. in History of Magic,” or “She can’t even master the most simple stuff,” wasn’t very informative. 

 

And so they analysed every student individually, alternatingly testing their year’s curriculum with basic skills. Hermione, as the Charms Professor, started with a simple Levitation and grew more demanding when the child demonstrated proficiency. If he or she didn’t master a particular task, she marked it on the parchments she’d created for each student.

 

At first, the process was mildly enjoyable, providing her with the perfect opportunity to dive in deep with an individual’s skill set -- something her demanded class schedule hardly gave her time to do during the typical school year.  However, her pedagogical enthusiasm evaporated very fast.

 

After the fifth student, Hermione was ready to bang her head on the table. 

 

“What’s up?” Draco asked, amused. 

 

“Seriously? I am asking myself what the hell we taught those students these past few years - the exchange of carbon-dioxide and oxygen?”

 

“They’re not that bad,” Draco retorted. 

 

Hermione counted on her fingers. “Walters gave you an antenna instead of transfiguring a pen into a cockroach. Stevens made a cauldron explode with a simple Forgetfulness Potion,” she pointed at her singed eyebrows, “and when he tried to unarm you with his  _ Expelliarmus _ , Everton misfired and will squeak like a mouse for the rest of the day. Hopefully  _ only  _ today.” 

 

Draco found this whole display of desperation quite... adorable? His colleague’s cheeks bore a slight pink hue, and due to the increased humidity, her curls had begun to frizzle.

 

“Do you think there’s a way to get expelled from Hogwarts because of sheer lack of talent?” 

 

He knew she wasn’t serious, but he couldn’t help but answer, “Well, if there were a way, the Weasel would have been gone by third year!” 

 

“That’s not true!” Her eyes sparkled passionately in the light of the classroom and his grin widened. 

 

“I know, I just wanted to stop your whining and get you angry instead.” 

 

She smacked his shoulder, but at least he had made her feel slightly better. 

 

“Alright, then let’s get this over with, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours and an innumerable amount of gasps, ducks, and shield spells later, Hermione and Draco had finally tested all the remaining young witches and wizards. And the picture was pretty bleak.

“Eighty per cent are heavily lacking in History if Magic, but no one in Divination,” Hermione summed up, using her wand to turn the individual charts into coloured stats and charts floating in front of them. “Thank Merlin,” she added under her breath. “The rest is evenly distributed over the other subjects.”

 

Draco nodded, taking in the results. 

 

Then, she suggested, “I thought we could split the classes between us and create a schedule and study plan for each individual student?” 

 

“That idea is quite perfect when you only have their passing as a goal.” 

 

“Do I hear a but?” she challenged him. 

 

“ _ But, _ ” he continued, exaggerating the word for emphasis, “look at them… Stevens’ catastrophic potion skills are due to her fear of Severus. Everton has this speech defect that prevents him from articulating certain sounds when he’s nervous, so he naturally keeps messing up spoken spells.  Masters is so full of himself and his glorious heritage that he overlooks that there’s more to Defense than a stance like he has blue balls…” 

 

Hermione giggled and told the Defense Professor, “He actually reminds me a lot of you in your younger years. You have to admit-” 

 

Knowing what was coming, he poked her ticklish side -- the only tactic he knew so far to interrupt her speech, besides an ancient tome, that is. “ _ My point is _ , Professor Granger, that we need to take their personalities into consideration as well as their academic skills.” 

 

She blinked. As someone who grew up next to him, it still caught her by surprise sometimes the way he had matured and grown into a respected and talented mentor. 

 

“Also, I don’t intend to spend my whole summer inside, so we should also plan some Quidditch games. Can’t grow rusted or pudgy now, can I?” 

 

Well,  _ mostly _ matured.

 

“Okay,” she conceded, with only a slight eye roll because she thought his idea of a wholesome education quite modern and logical. “What about this: I draw up the individual study schedules, and you take over the lesson plans? Then, we look over them and add some fun activities and free time?”

 

“That sounds like a solid plan.” He winked and added, “And I’m starting the fun activity by checking out if the Quidditch pitch is still functional.” 

 

Draco was about to stand up when Hermione pulled him back by his sleeve.

 

“Wait. We have to talk about Jacob Higgins.” She had turned serious again, the second year boy being a case that seemed especially bad. 

 

Of course, Hermione had considered him a lost case in Charms, but now that she had the chance to see him performing in other subjects, she felt something bigger was amiss with the youngest student in their summer group.

 

“Apparently, he doesn’t understand complex texts. He can read the words out loud, but whenever he is supposed to write something, it’s like a blank page. I assumed he was just very untalented in Charms. But-” 

 

“- It’s something that happens in every subject and therefore is a general problem.” Draco tilted his head, taking Hermione’s worries very seriously.

 

“Do we know anything about his schooling before Hogwarts?” 

 

“He was homeschooled,” Draco answered, familiar with the Slytherin’s background. “Traditional wizarding family, though not one of the old elite, in case you ask.” 

 

Hermione hummed and checked the results again. “And in his essays: his sentence structure, grammar, spelling… it’s like a very young child just starting to read and write. No punctuation.” She bit her lip in thought, a vague memory of her own primary school days tickling her mind.

 

“You’re up to something.” What in their school years would’ve pushed him to taunt her, now merely piqued his curiosity.

 

Another nod. “Maybe. Let me -” 

 

“- Check something in the library?” he finished for her. 

 

She smiled brightly at him. “You know me too well, Draco Malfoy.” 

 

“Oh, I think there are still a lot of secrets about Hermione Granger I’ve yet to discover.” 

 

Hermione shivered at that - probably imagined - layer of flirtiness.

 

She decided to react playfully. “Is that a threat, my fellow professor?” 

 

“A promise.”

 

She cleared her throat, a bit embarrassed at the effect he sometimes - veeeery rarely, really - had on her.  “But before I check the library, I might need to send a letter. I’m going to be back in an hour or so.” The haze of her memory lifted the more she thought about it, but she needed proof, and maybe even some expertise.

 

“Why? The owlery isn’t that far away,” Draco wanted to know.

 

“I don’t need an owl.” 

 

“Are you going to tell me?” 

 

Draco Malfoy, Hermione had learned, was as curious as she was and couldn’t stand  _ not _ knowing what was going on.

 

“Nope.” She grinned and explained, “I’ve got to see if my thoughts are taking the right route. But you’ll know, eventually.” His mock pout amused her. “Oh, poor Draky.” On an impulse, she patted his cheek. “Now be a good boy and go play Quidditch for a bit.”

 

Draco, his cheek still slightly tingling after the unexpected skin-to-skin contact, stayed behind when Hermione exited the room. 

 

Him? A good boy? Never. Especially not for Professor Granger.

  
  



	3. The Game is Apparently On

 

Over the course of the next few days, Hermione and Draco established a comfortable routine. In the mornings, they would teach three hours worth of different subjects to small groups of five or six students. They had split up the subjects so that Hermione taught Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and History of Magic, while Draco took up DADA, Potions, Ancient Runes, and Herbology. The last course had led to a small quarrel between the professors because they both wanted to be in charge of it. 

 

“But you don’t even  _ like _ Herbology!” Hermione had accused Draco.

 

“No, I don’t like  _ Longbottom _ ; there’s a difference!” he had argued back, arms folded in front of his chest. 

 

“But - “

 

“I am going to use small words for you since your brain has apparently fallen into summer hibernation. Do you honestly think  _ Longbottom _ grows the plants for Severus’ potions?”

 

Hermione had blinked owlishly. “ _ You _ are growing them? Why are you doing that?”

 

“Because, believe it or not, Severus trusts me not to screw up handling delicate flowers.”

 

She had narrowed her eyes at him.  “Are you messing with me?” Hermione really hadn’t been sure. Severus was notorious for being incredibly picky with his potion ingredients, but Draco  _ had _ been his top student even after one accounted for all the Slytherin favouritism. Then again, it was one of Draco’s past times to egg her on.

 

“No, I’m not,” Draco had answered plainly. “Although he’s only letting me do the job because he can’t bear Longbottom’s incessant babbling in the greenhouse.” 

 

That Hermione hadn’t argued about; Neville was quite the chatterbox when plants were involved. 

 

“Fine.” She had stuck out her nose. “But I’m getting Arithmancy!”

 

Draco fondly thought back to that afternoon when they had split up the classes between them. He couldn’t deny it: the bantering between him and Hermione had become the highlight of his otherwise monotonous day. Now that they were the only teaching personnel, they spent nearly every minute of their free time together. 

 

After lunch hours, they met with the students individually for half an hour to determine what progress they had (or had not) made and to answer specific questions or provide the guidance they needed. Draco was surprised by how much more the students improved in a one-on-one situation. And, as he had previously discussed with Hermione, these individual tutoring sessions also served as a bit of counselling. 

 

When he met with Stevens, he told her stories about his own time in Potions, as well a bit about what it was like to have Severus Snape as his godfather.

 

“And Professor Longbottom really saw Professor Snape in witches’ clothes?” the girl asked with wide eyes.

 

Draco smiled, remembering, “Well, to be correct, it was a Boggart. But that didn’t stop me from giving him a gift certificate to  _ Wondrous Witches Wardrobe _ the following Christmas!”

 

With Oliver Masters, he took a different approach. Instead of building the boy up, he tried his best to reduce the young man’s overbearing ego. 

 

“Why are you here, Mister Masters?” he demanded during the first study lesson with the young pureblood who sat relaxed in his chair in front of Draco’s desk.

 

“Because the O.W.L. system is a farce,” Masters replied confidently.

 

“Care to elaborate? Just to humour me?” Were the student a bit more aware of anything but himself, he would have noticed the sarcasm in Draco’s voice. 

 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Wizards like you and me,” he gestured between Draco and himself with his perfectly manicured hand, “who grew up watching duels and studying their family chronicles, can’t possibly be expected to take the silly tricks required for exams seriously. We surpass that level of proficiency  _ years _ before those who first wield a wand when they enter Hogwarts.”

 

Draco’s mood grew sour. “Pardon me, but do you really believe the rubbish that just left your mouth?”

 

Apparently, Masters hadn’t expected such an answer from his teacher, for he paled rapidly.

 

“The last time I heard such an inane amount of arrogance was before May 1998.” Draco paused for effect, fixing the boy with a stare. “Do you know what I’m hinting at?”

 

A timid nod.

 

“I’m not convinced,” the blond continued, his voice still low. “The arrogance you show in lessons and between classes is something ingrained in you, so I won’t fault you entirely. However, what is even more disappointing is that your attitude doesn’t even match your capabilities; you haven’t soaked up one bit of the skills you’re privy to in a pureblood household.” Despite the whole thing going more than downhill later in his life, the DADA Professor had learned a lot in his youth, from dueling to literature. Growing up in Malfoy Manor had provided him with a lot of useful knowledge -- once you peeled away the layers of blood supremacy.

 

“So you better learn to properly execute those  _ tricks _ , as you called them,” Draco sneered at the now cowering student. “But what’s more important is that you learn humility and let your attitude go.  _ Quickly. _ ” To add a dose of Slytherin dramatics, Draco leaned in close, staring right into Masters’ fearful eyes. “I don’t want to wait for another war for you to learn your lesson.” 

 

He let his final words sink in, Masters remaining completely silent in the chair, before Draco dismissed the speechless pupil who hung his head in what he hoped was either shame or contemplation. 

 

* * *

 

With only two professors in the castle, Hermione and Draco were always on patrol duty, or rather, a reduced form of it. Having changed the sleeping arrangements in favour of the girls in the Gryffindor tower and the boys in the Slytherin dungeons, they merely checked on them shortly before 10 p.m. and bid them goodnight.

 

It was on one of those rounds, a week into the holidays, when Draco caught a group of sixth and seventh years exchanging bets -- or more accurately, quickly hiding away the evidence of doing so when he entered the dorm -- if he identified the rustling of parchment and the clinking of Galleons correctly.

 

The boys’ faces showed the typical signs of getting caught red-handed. They threw unsure glances at each other, some covering the telling sound of coins colliding with a fake cough. Inwardly, Draco grinned, remembering the fun he and his dorm mates had with their silly bets. After all, it wasn’t exactly necessary to know that twelve chocolate frogs (completely wrapped!) fit into Theo’s mouth or that it took the Ravenclaw girls exactly thirty minutes to fire a spell after discovering the Slytherin boys had created a peephole in their shower wall.

 

“What are you doing, boys?” he asked, casually entering the room.

 

“Nothing?” The squeaky voice of Everton sounded more like a question than an answer.

 

“Nothing? Not even playing Exploding Snap? Or chess? Or -” With an exaggerated snap of his fingers, Draco summoned a hastily stashed away piece of parchment from under a copy of the Standard Book of Spells. “- maybe you are making up some questionable bets?”

 

They students gasped, but Draco only grinned at them. “What are you betting on, boys?” Maybe I can throw my few Galleons in?”

 

Just when the professor was about to unfold the parchment, Thomas Prewett jumped up as if stung by a bee, and clamored, “No!”

 

Draco, more amused than surprised at the Gryffindor’s rash behaviour, raised an eyebrow. “No? And why, pray tell, I shouldn’t?”

 

“Uhmmm…” the student stammered. “Because we’re betting on something a bit questionable, as you’ve already suspected.”

 

“Well, that’s very noble of you to admit, but this only serves to pique my interest more,” Draco said, now highly intrigued by their activity. “What exactly? Come on, I was a student once, too!” For all eyes to see, he unfolded the parchment in his hands. As it seemed, the pupils hadn’t gotten so far as to finish the betting yet, for he could only see a table with some names on the left and some numbers next to them, starting with two and not higher than ten. But Draco was smart - and had been an adolescent boy himself, once.

 

“You’re betting on two people getting together by the end of the holidays.” 

 

The wide-open eyes and shocked faces told him that he had deduced correctly.

 

Draco chuckled, remembering similar wagers back in his day.  “Oh… Let me guess. Prewett and Miller? I’ve seen how you look at each other!” 

 

Thomas Prewett’s face took the colour of a very ripe cherry.

 

“No, sir.” The sixth year shook his head.  “She’s nice, but… no.”

 

Draco held up his hand, determined to figure out the potential pairing. “Wait, don’t say it… Masters and... Cathy Wickett?” Several boys shook their heads. Pretending to become impatient, he sighed, “Will you tell me or do I need to summon some more of your parchments? Like the one I see Masters is sitting on?”

 

Then, he saw Everton elbowing Masters. “Tell him we’re betting on Granger and him-” 

 

Draco’s head snapped towards Everton. “What did you just say?” he pressed.

 

The dorm was quiet instantly. Awkwardly. 

 

Everton lowered his head and nervously scratched the base of his neck, actively avoiding to look into Draco’s eyes.  “I said, Sir, that we have been betting on you and Professor Granger.” 

 

This was one of those moments when Draco pulled a Lucius-mask from his repertoire. And, always to his surprise and disgust, it worked. The students’ faces fell, changed into something akin to fearful. On the inside, Draco didn’t really know what to feel. He was aware that teenagers, boys and girls alike, tended to romanticize the relationships of adults. Still, he felt a bit light-headed at the thought.

 

“I am only repeating this to confirm that I haven’t misheard: the people you are betting on to get together are Professor Granger and me?” he said, pronouncing every syllable clearly and coldly.

 

Crestfallen nods. 

 

Draco folded his arms across his chest, still maintaining his stern glare.  “Beside the fact that - crazy has it seems to you - professors also have a right for privacy, I don’t know if I should be upset or amused at your behaviour.”  He shook his head and sighed. “Just do me a favour and don’t mention it to Professor Granger, for she will forego upset and amused and jump directly to detention-seeking. Are we clear?” 

 

“Yes, Professor Malfoy.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And then they jumped into their beds faster than a Nimbus 3000!” Draco retold the happenings in the boys dorm to his female colleague a bit later, conveniently leaving out the part that they had been betting on the two of them.

 

Shortly before the summer session had started, they had made it their habit to meet in one of their quarters to talk, usually Draco’s since he was the one who had the better stock of wine and firewhisky at hand. Until they had emptied their glass of wine, they limited their conversational topics to their teaching. But afterwards, the talked about everything  _ but _ their job - though gossip about the other inhabitants of the castle was still allowed.

 

“That’s nothing compared to the giggling bunch of girls I had to silence,” Hermione countered.  “Really now, it’s like all the females in this castle have a crush on you!” 

 

She chuckled to herself, but Draco cocked his head. His eyes and his inquiring gaze made her blush in spite of herself. To have something to do, she emptied her wine glass, not wanting her occasional,  _ mild  _ interest in him get the better of her. 

 

“ _ All _ the females?” he asked with an accompanying grin, inching closer on the sofa they shared. “You flatter me, Granger.”

 

“Oh, don’t let this get to your head!” Hermione dismissed.  “But, I  _ suppose… _ ” She was surprised to hear that her voice had a subtle, but definite flirty undertone.

 

Draco raised an eyebrow.  “Last I checked,  _ you _ are female.” 

 

Hermione patted his head.  “Congratulations, Malfoy. It seems you would pass Muggle Biology after all.” 

 

Draco thought back to the students’ wager. The longer he thought about it, the more he supposed there were some pieces of evidence supporting their claim. To bring up her beloved Muggle sciences, he gathered there was a certain amount of chemistry between them. And as she so aptly confirmed, she  _ was _ a female.  In fact, she was the only adult female in the castle...

 

Suddenly in a flirty mood, he smirked at Hermione. “Don’t change the topic. Does that include you? Do you find me…  _ approachable _ ?” 

 

“My fist approached your face once, remember?” she deadpanned without blinking.

 

“You’re avoiding the question again,  _ Hermione _ .” 

 

Said witch blushed as she realised that there was barely a few inches between them, Draco leaning in even closer to her. That he chose to whisper her first name, which he did rarely, didn’t make it any better. Usually, it was ‘Granger’ or ‘Professor Granger’ for him, and he reserved ‘Hermione’ for very special occasions.

 

“Do you find me attractive?” His voice was low and dark now. 

 

Despite (or because of) her insides being an unstable mass of unsorted emotions, Hermione started laughing. It probably wasn’t the most appropriate response to the question, but she didn’t trust what her reaction would be otherwise.

 

“Sorry - I just…” she apologised upon seeing the deep frown on his face. “Draco, come on, don’t be such a spoilsport. Of course I find you attractive! You have these grey eyes, and this smirk, and don’t think I didn’t see those abs when you wiped your face with your shirt on the Quidditch pitch a few days ago. I  _ do _ appreciate looking at a yummy male in my age.” 

 

Hermione could barely believe she had just admitted her attraction to him, but there really was no harm in it. Facts. Just socio-biological facts. Yes. Facts were safe.

 

Draco, on the other hand, appeared stunned, still seeming to process her confession. 

 

To overcome the sudden, uncomfortable pause in their unexpected conversation, she suggested, “Can I have another glass? This Bordeaux is excellent!”

 

Fulfilling her wish automatically, Draco stood to fetch the bottle from his wine cabinet. To be honest, he was glad about this chance to collect himself. What had just happened? Had he really flirted with Hermione? And heavily at that? Judging by the tingling in his face and his loins, he indeed had.

 

Merlin, this woman’s proximity was intense. More intense than before. Was it the students’ bet, putting ideas in his head like a self-fulfilling prophecy? Or did he need a shag so desperately that he flirted with Granger, whose friendship he had worked so hard to for?

 

* * *

 

The majority of the summer students were introduced to a revolutionary novelty: staying awake for a whole period of History of Magic. 

 

Hermione hoped that this wasn’t due to the fact that there was only a small group of students instead of a whole class, but because she was a decent history teacher. Instead of letting the students drool on their parchment while Professor Binns droned through the centuries, she tried to make it a bit more entertaining. 

 

“Now that we’ve intensively discussed the witch hunts of the Early Modern Times, let’s make some steps forward. Has the wizarding society learned from its sufferings during those times?”

 

The students looked at her in wonder, as if they didn’t know that history was one of the keys to understanding the present. Which, given their experience with history lessons and their ages, probably wasn’t the case.

 

She waited a few moments and decided to challenge them with prompt. “Okay, take a position on the validity of this statement: in the second war against Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, the corrupt wizarding politics enacted a reverse witch hunt against certain individuals and Muggle-borns as a group.”

 

Hermione saw some eyes widening, maybe surprised she’d draw from her personal experience. But she often did that in class; staying authentic is an important part of being a successful teacher, and anecdotes contributed to that.

 

“By certain individuals, do you mean Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix?” Stephanie Weaver asked, intrigued.  

 

Hermione nodded in agreement, encouraging her to go on. 

 

“Then no, I don’t agree with that statement, because the situations aren’t comparable,” Weaver explained. “While the motivations for the witch hunts in Early Modern Times were largely religious, it was mainly a way for Muggles to explain certain events, such as famines. Even if sometimes other reasons played a role, there rarely was a political institution or group responsible. In the years before the Battle of Hogwarts, on the other hand, Voldemort and his followers were greedy for power, driven by old supremacies, and, in the case of the Golden Trio, even by a personal vendetta.”

 

It was very quiet in Hermione’s classroom after Stephanie’s statement. The young professor clapped and smiled proudly at her student. “Very well done! That was an excellent and well-thought analysis and assessment. Anyone else want to say something?”

 

Another hand was raised, and Hermione knew from experience what to expect next.

 

“Are you still friends with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley?” 

 

Sooner or later, every group she taught asked her this question. “Yes, of course. I’m their children’s godmother!” In what she hoped was a sarcastic tone, she added, “I wanted to spend the summer with them, but then you nasty students came along.” Half-sarcastic, at least.

 

“My grandma says you and Ron Weasley would have made the perfect match!” 

 

As usual, Hermione answered, “And I’m saying that that’s my private life.”

 

“What about Professor Malfoy? Do you consider him a better match?” Fiona Wood threw in. 

 

Hermione felt a blush crawling up her cheeks, unbidden, but Thomas Prewett had already opened his mouth. “That’s just silly! That would be like in one of your trashy romance novels, wouldn’t it?”

 

“What? Why?” Wood retorted.

 

“Because she is a  _ ‘war heroine’ _ and he was a  _ ‘Death Eater’ _ !” The boy emphasized his words with wide gestures.

 

“ _ She _ is in the room and it’s impolite to talk about her like that!” 

 

The students immediately stopped their bickering and turned their attention to the frustrated look of their professor.

 

This time, Hermione put a bit more force behind her voice. “There are two things you need to understand. One, and I don’t like repeating myself here, whomever I date is my personal business.” Agitated, she started pacing in front of her desk. “Two, Draco Malfoy has come a very long way since he was considered a Death Eater,  _ was _ being the operative word here. He has suffered like the rest of us, but, in contrary to us, wasn’t placed on some kind of pedestal in the aftermath of it all. He’s undoubtedly made some mistakes in his youth, and only some of them you will find in the history books, but he has worked hard to redeem himself and his family name.”

 

Timidly, Justine Millers raised her hand. “Was it difficult for you to forgive him? I mean, I’ve read about what happened in Malfoy Manor…” Apparently, the more recent history of the wizarding world proved to be more interesting to her students than she had anticipated.

 

“No.” Hermione’s forceful reply came without hesitation. “Not at all.” She swallowed, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I must apologize. It was highly unprofessional of me to react so emotionally.”

 

“Don’t worry, Professor Granger,” one of the seventh year boys said with an exaggerated wriggle of his eyebrows, “I bet Professor Malfoy causes emotional reactions from many witches. Correct, Cathy?” 

 

Appreciating the Gryffindor’s attempt to lighten the mood, Hermione couldn’t suppress a chuckle. And she almost felt sorry for Cathy Wickett, who blushed a deep crimson when confronted with her ‘secret’ crush. Though, evaluating her own reactions and thoughts, Hermione wasn’t sure her own feelings towards the wizard could still be considered a silly crush...


	4. Communication is the Key

Two weeks into the summer holidays, a heatwave set in -- an unusual occurrence considering this was Scotland and they usually wore long sleeves as soon as the sun started to set. But now, it was hot enough to go swimming outside. Not in the Black Lake, though, for the two remaining professors wouldn’t want to have to explain to the Headmistress why the Giant Squid was regurgitating students. Instead, the talented Charms Professor she was, Hermione had constructed a large pool on the big meadow in front of the castle, complete with parasols and sun loungers. 

 

After all the intense teaching, Draco was as happy as the students when he led the group of teenage boys outside. Off in the distance, he could hear Hermione’s repeated insistence that they all keep their head above water and asing if had applied enough sunscreen potion. He, himself, was dressed in casual swimming trunks in emerald green - just to annoy Hermione who had recently ranted about how far his obsessiveness with Slytherin’s house colour went after spotting the twenty green scarfs in his wardrobe.

 

The girls apparently were already enjoying the water, for he heard a boy behind him gasping, “ _ Wow _ . Just wow. I didn’t know a simple purple one-piece could be  _ so  _ sexy.”

 

Chuckling, Draco asked, “So, which girl caught your attention, Forbes?” 

 

“I wouldn’t get so far an consider Professor Granger as a girl, Sir!” 

 

Draco turned his head so fast it cracked his neck to look in the direction of the hoard of females - and was suddenly very thankful for his proper manners, because they allowed him to keep a straight face on seeing Hermione Granger in a bathing suit. No, this witch  _ definitely  _ wasn’t a girl; she was a woman with supple curves in all the right places, her chaotic curls cascading down her back like a waterfall he very much wanted to disappear behind. 

 

“Sweet Salazar!” Fabian Patterson spluttered, inadvertently speaking Draco’s mind. “When I finish the year, I’m laying my claim on her! She can’t be older than what? Twenty-five?”

 

“Thirty in September,” Draco corrected through gritted teeth. “You would know that had you paid any attention in History of Magic! And right now, it’s  _ ‘if’ _ , not  _ ‘when’ _ you finish.” Ignoring the flabbergasted expression on the teenager’s face, he strode forward, trying to come over casually.

 

“Granger! You’ve done a really fine job with this pool,” he addressed her.

 

Turning her head upon hearing her name, Hermione smiled brightly at him. “Why, thank you. I think we could all benefit from a little cooling.”

 

“That I can’t deny.” Yes, the temperature had risen a few degrees. In his blood.

 

He also couldn’t deny that he was slightly distracted by the drops of water glistening in the sun, rolling down her clavicle and further down --

 

“Draco! Did you listen to me?” Hermione’s voice demanded. Thank Merlin for sunglasses. With them perched on his patrician nose, she couldn’t see where his eyes had strayed to. 

 

“No,” he answered honestly, but then struggled to justify.  “I… saw Masters cannonballing into the pool. Excuse me while I go reprimand him.” 

 

Once he had turned away from his colleague, he could breathe more easily. To see her so...  _ undressed _ was a hard test for his newly acknowledged ‘physical infatuation’ as he had decided to call it. While he obviously knew she was a woman, it took some time to see her attributes so openly displayed, with only a thin layer of purple fabric between the warm summer air and her --

 

“Masters!” he yelled after the pupil, not wanting to finish that thought. “Try not to be so  careless! We don’t want anyone to risk a concussion, and who knows what that’d do to your already limited brains!” 

 

* * *

 

 

“You really created a nice place to relax,” Draco complimented her later that day when he sat down on the sunbed next to Granger’s. Thankfully, she had donned some kind of tunic made of a light, but non-transparent material, so he wasn’t nearly as distracted as he had been earlier. 

 

“You’re full of exceptionally kind words for me today.” She smiled at him. “What’s the occasion?” 

 

“Even a cold Slytherin like me can be in a good mood from time to time. And since it’s Friday, I invited some friends along.”

 

“Friends?” She glanced at him from over a well-read copy of some book called  _ The Lord of the Rings _ .

 

“Yes. Theo, his fiance Daphne, her sister Astoria, and Blaise,” he explained. He had decided to invite them after he had received another call from Blaise, insisting on a time for them to hang. Since Draco couldn’t simply leave for a night out, this had been the most logical solution. While Hogwarts wasn’t exactly preferable over a posh restaurant or bar that they would have normally chosen, the young professor craved some adult company. And it didn’t hurt that Blaise had mentioned that Astoria had specifically asked about him.  

 

“The Greengrass sisters,” said Hermione, as if trying to remember them for herself. “Astoria is a few years younger than us, right?”

 

“Mhm.” He leaned back on the sunbed, stretching and folding his arms behind his head, hoping for a nap in the sun. 

 

“So they’re all coming to Hogwarts?” The rustling of pages being turned had stopped.

 

“Yes. I thought it would be more practical to invite them here.” 

 

“Sure. Well, at least one of us has a bit of a social life then.”  

 

The sound of a book being forcefully closed and the undertone in her voice made Draco think there was something he was missing, prompting him to turn his head towards Hermione.  “Who says you can’t join us?” he suggested. “Blaise is actually well-read, I think you could find some common ground with him.” 

 

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say because the smiling, gorgeous woman next to him had adapted a frown that made him want to dress in warm clothes again. But what did he do wrong? He just wanted to assure her that she would be welcome in his circle of friends if she so desired.

 

“Don’t feel obligated to drag me along, Malfoy. I’m certain  _ Blaise _ can find someone else to talk to,” she snapped and rose from the sunbed. 

 

He almost missed her parting words because her perfect, round ass was on his eye-level.

 

“Excuse me, but I have some students to supervise,” she snapped, stomping off towards the pool. 

 

Draco stayed behind, confused. As much as he appreciated her extraordinary intellect and her sharp humour, sometimes, Hermione Granger was just an ordinary witch: a complete and utter mystery.

 

* * *

 

Hermione’s unreasonably sour mood hadn’t brightened the next morning when she stopped next to the student’s table to hand out some marked essays. She could admit to herself that it hadn’t sat well with her that Draco had invited his friends.

 

“Is that lady Professor Malfoy’s girlfriend?” one of the younger girls asked innocently, not addressing anyone in particular. 

 

That made Hermione turn towards the Head table. And indeed, there sat the Prince of Slytherin with his posse. She easily recognized Theo, Blaise, and Daphne, as they hadn’t changed much since leaving Hogwarts - though, she had never exchanged many words with them. Then Hermione’s eyes narrowed on the witch next to Draco, his supposed ‘girlfriend’. With her slender figure, curves in all the right places, her perfectly braided auburn hair, Astoria Greengrass was a beautiful woman. And, judging by the way she smiled at him, she was very aware of her impact on men. Hermione couldn’t hear what Astoria said to Draco, but she could definitely see his resulting smile.

 

Before Hermione could shrug off her thoughts and answer with a less than pedagogical, “How and why the fuck would I know that?” Justine Millers expertly explained, “Maybe. But maybe he’s just keeping her around to… you know…” 

 

The younger girl’s eyes widened comically. “For s-” 

 

Justine clamped a hand over the other girl’s mouth and threw an apologetic glance at Hermione, suddenly aware of the professor’s presence. 

 

Fiona Wood, whose back was turned to Hermione, chattered on, “Exactly. I mean, look at him. He could have any witch!” The girl made an exaggerated hand gesture towards Draco’s face and body, causing the other girls to giggle.

 

Inwardly and irrationally, Hermione’s heart plummeted. Yes, Draco could have any witch he wanted. 

 

Just not while he was here in Hogwarts. 

 

Stuck in the castle, Draco’s only available witch was her. Her logic kicking in, Hermione felt a wave of… disappointment. Simple as it was, Draco’s limited access to witches explained his flirty mood with her. That, however, apparently hadn’t stopped him from inviting Astoria Greengrass. 

 

Just then, Hermione could see her placing her manicured hand on Draco’s arm, fiddling with his shirt. Anger and… jealousy? bubbled up inside her stomach, much to her own embarrassment.  Spending so much time with teenagers brought back the long-forgotten teenage insecurities, or so it seemed. 

 

But that would have to stop now. She wouldn’t let her silly beyond-friendship affection towards Draco Malfoy ruin her summer. Besides, two could play that game.  She turned on her heels with a huff. 

 

“Where are you going, Professor Granger?” Justine asked. “Is it time to start the first study lesson already?”  

 

A bit proud of Justine’s eagerness for learning, Hermione answered, “No, don’t worry. I just remembered I have an important owl to send.” 

 

On the way to the owlery, her thoughts grew more determined and her mood lifted. It was time for her to invite some of her own friends and… resources of Charlieness. 

 

* * *

 

When Draco closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated on the noises around him, it was almost like when he was a pupil himself. Blaise droned on about how everything obviously had an Italian origin, the croissant, the milk, even the idea to have breakfast in the first place. Theo yawned very loudly in attempt to overpower Blaise’s voice, and Daphne was caught between laughing and chastising the boys for their immature behaviour.

 

But, Draco was far too aware that those times were long gone. And his path between that past and today’s present had been paved with blood, and pain, and a hard-earned chance to redeem himself. Sometimes, he forgot that his friends, even though a part of the elite purebloods like the Notts or the ridiculously wealthy like the Zabinis, had never been as close to the midst of the chaos of war as he had been. Yes, they too had their share of problems to adapt afterwards, but none of them had seen the horrors he had seen, had been drilled to kill.

 

Had never seen their schoolmates being tortured in their homes, screaming under the Cruciatus curse.

 

Collecting himself again with a forceful release of breath, Draco looked at the witch next to him. 

 

“Are you okay, Draco?” Astoria asked him with a sweet smile.

 

“Yes. Just… memories.” He forced himself to smile back. Even if he explained, she probably wouldn’t get him. Granger normally noticed those brief episodes, comforting him with a squeeze of her hand on his and pouring him a strong tea instead of the usual coffee. She understood this mood of his with just a simple glance into his eyes.

 

“So, will we meet again at the tea party your mother hosts in a fortnight?” Astoria asked, not bothering to pry any further. “Maybe there, you won’t be so occupied by your surprising sense of duty.” To emphasize her underlying intentions, Astoria softly fiddled with the fabric of his sleeve.

 

Sighing inwardly, Draco knew now was the moment he had dreaded since yesterday.

 

Because, while the group had had a wonderful evening together, he still couldn’t relax entirely. And even with Astoria making it unmistakably clear what she wanted, he had blocked her advances and merely gave her a chaste goodnight kiss on the cheek. She, as it now turned out, had attributed that to his work ethic. She was a nice woman alright, but… she was two-dimensional. Too much of the pureblood witch with a rebellious streak of pre-nuptial sex. And when he told her about his students and about their struggles, she had  **merely** agreed with him, mindlessly nodding along. That hadn’t been a conversation; that had been a monologue.

 

After that, he had politely listened to her ideas of a charity for widowed Quidditch players (which he didn’t consider a bad idea) and which events and garden parties she planned to attend that summer. 

 

And, apparently, she wanted to include him in her plans. 

 

“Draco?” she asked again. “You are coming to your mother’s party, aren’t you? It would be lovely to spend some more time with you.”

 

Before he could answer, his eyes were drawn to a movement by the students’ table. A witch with too much brunette hair and an intelligence and humour that matched his own. For a very short moment, he could see Hermione’s eyes before she left the Great Hall, even though she wasn’t looking at him. 

 

And he saw a fire in them. And this, in turn, led to a realization.

 

He didn’t want a witch like Astoria, not even for a round of fun.

 

He wanted this fire. This wit.

 

But even though his thoughts made him light-headed and a bit perturbed, he still was a Malfoy. And, as such, he could pull himself together and answer Astoria, almost feeling sorry for the way her smile faltered at his words, “Yes, I probably have to attend. Though, I’m afraid, I won’t be able to spend as much time with you as you wish for, Astoria. I’m so sorry.”


	5. A Visit and a Friend

Hermione spent the rest of the day buried in work - the exact thing she had hoped to avoid over the holidays. But at least, between teaching and counselling, she didn’t have to think about smirks and grey eyes and other similarly distracting features. Until they knocked on her door.

 

She knew just one person who had such an annoyingly precise and accurate knock if such a thing existed.

 

Hermione opened the door a fraction, and of course, she had been right with her assumption. It was indeed Draco, standing in front of her quarters, holding a ribboned parcel in his hands. 

 

“Oh, you’ve come to apologise?” 

 

Draco looked at the parcel, confused. “No?” he had the nerve to say.

 

_ Colossal idiot. _ She closed the door again but was not entirely successful because Draco had put a foot in it. 

 

“Wait! I don’t really have any idea what I need to apologise for!” he said, and there was a cluelessness in his voice that inclined her to believe him. Nevertheless, she gave him her best glare. “You already know I’m an idiot,” he played along. And then, he gave her a puppy eyes look, all large and grey and- Hermione felt her expression soften because  _ damn _ , this tactic never failed to work on her. 

 

“That you are,” Hermione said, stopping herself from falling too victim to that irresistible look.  “Now be good and get your sorry present and yourself in my rooms.” 

 

Sheepishly, he rubbed his neck with his hand, handing her the parcel with the other. “I’m afraid this isn’t even my present…” 

 

“What?” The glare was back.

 

“An owl apparently misplaced it. It’s from a C.W.” 

 

“Oh…” was what she answered.  _ Charlie _ . After removing the ribbon and wrapping paper, Hermione held a book and a short note in her hand. ‘Soft and Hard: Erotic Massages With or Without a Wand’, she read the book’s title to herself, refraining from opening it in front of the present company. The note itself was enough to make her blush deeply anyway: _ ‘Sorry, but I can’t come. The Welsh Green is in the middle of hatching season. Maybe this book can help you prepare for when we meet again?’ _

 

“A special friend, this C.W.?” Draco, knowing his way around her kitchen by now, took two wine glasses from her cupboard. “Never heard you talking about him, but he must be when a book and a note make you blush like that.” 

 

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up even more. “Oh, but you have. Charlie Weasley? Dragon tamer, heavily muscled, and tattooed?” Why did it feel so good to rub that in Draco’s face?

 

“Ah,” came the qualified reaction. His eyes remained on his hand that poured them a summerly rosé. 

 

“I invited him, but he can’t come. Hatching season for the Welsh Green,” she stated, trying to sound casual but feeling a bit coy at the same time. 

 

Draco rounded her kitchen counter, handing her a glass and finally looking at her. “And is he?” 

 

“What?” Hermione could hear her voice had turned a bit breathless upon the intensity in his eyes. 

 

“A  _ special friend _ of yours?” 

 

“What if he were?” she smiled, now definitely coy.

 

“Then he is an idiot for neglecting you for the Welsh Green.” 

 

Hermione felt a shiver of something sinful travel through her body. And she wanted more.

 

He cleared his throat and continued, a bit awkwardly, “Well, it was a pity you didn’t join us yesterday. They all asked about you.” 

 

At the mention of his friends, the charged atmosphere dissolved quickly.“About that -” 

 

He continued, ignoring her attempt to say something, “I probably should have made it clearer that you would’ve been welcome. We just wanted to spend a relaxed evening together.” 

 

“So you didn’t want to pair me off with Blaise?” 

 

Draco’s head snapped up.  “Pardon me?” Judging by the confusion in his expression, he really didn’t know.

 

Even intelligent men like Draco Malfoy could be so oblivious. “Well, that’s what you made it sound like,” she explained. “With Theo and Daphne, and you and Astoria, it made sense to me that you’d wanted me to  _ ‘bond’ _ with Blaise.” 

 

He chuckled. “Salazar, no! First of all, you’d chase me to the Founder’s days and back if I paired you off with Blaise. He’s my friend, but he’s also a bit of a slag. Secondly, about Astoria - ”

 

“Yes?” She could have bitten her tongue over how eager that sounded.

 

“Let’s say we certainly don’t  _ ‘bond’ _ , as I’ve come to realise recently.” 

 

Hermione had some difficulties reacting to this. She settled for, “So, you’ve finished your round for tonight?”

 

“Yes, indeed. The boys are sleeping in their beds like the little angels they are.” He smiled confidently, already making himself comfortable on her couch.

 

“Well, Mr. Perfect Pureblood, let me introduce you to one of the best and worst menaces of Muggle-kind - the DVD player.” Hermione swished her wand and the previously ignored device switched to life.

 

“I thought those devices won’t work here?”

 

“Typically no, but I get inventive when left alone, so I made my player work.” It hadn’t been as easy as she made it sound, but she wasn’t called ‘The Brains of the Golden Trio’ for nothing.

 

“Something tells me I shouldn't say that this is the perfect reason to leave you alone more often.” 

 

She smacked his shoulder but plopped down next to him. “Be careful what you wish for, my  _ Preciousss _ ,” she teased and pressed play, starting ‘The Lord of the Rings’.

 

* * *

 

Draco woke up to drama. At least that was what the music coming from the DVD-player was suggesting. That, and the man on screen with a dozen or more arrows in his body.

 

Taking in his surroundings, he realised he had fallen asleep while watching the movie, and he wasn’t alone. Curled up into his side, her head settled comfortably into the crook of his neck, was his brunette colleague, still fast asleep in his arms.

 

Draco smiled at that. It wasn’t the first time they had fallen asleep during their evening visits, but it was the first time they had gotten so cozy. Not that he minded. In fact, he battled the very un-Slytherin impulse to tighten his arms around her and go back to sleep.

 

However, a knock on the door destroyed his plans. A very loud, unrelenting knock. Groaning at the interruption, Draco carefully untangled himself from Hermione, wondrously managing it without waking her.  

 

“Who’s dying?” were the words he opened the door to Hermione’s quarters with.

 

“Professor Grang-” an obviously agitated Deborah Stevens took in the sight of him, then looked back at the door, checking to see if she had knocked on the right door. “Professor Malfoy… uhhmmm… it’s actually a good thing to see you. We might need help from both of you.”

 

Groaning again because this couldn’t possibly mean anything good, Draco pressured, “Out with it, Stevens. What happened?” A sleepy Malfoy was no joy to be around, but despite being still half asleep, he quickly fell into his teacher role.

 

“You see, there was a small gathering in the Slytherin common room, and Fiona had nicked some Scotch, and someone had firewhisky - “

 

“Enough. I get it,” he waved her off. Turning back to the living room, he said, “Give me two minutes to wake up Her- Professor Granger, and we’ll come post haste.” He closed the door without waiting for Stevens’ reaction.

 

Gently, he shook Hermione’s shoulder, who had stirred upon the interruption but wasn’t fully awake yet. “Hermione, I’m afraid you have to get up. Our delightful company got pissed.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Draco and Hermione entered the Slytherin common room, they were met with a picture of destruction and chaos. In short: the older students had engaged in a roaring party with all that came with it. 

 

“Apart from the obvious amount of rule breaking, why did you call us?” Hermione, who still wore her comfortable yoga pants and a washed out t-shirt with the logo of the Natural History Museum in London, demanded. 

 

An unmistakable, retching noise brought the answer. 

 

“Oliver can’t stop vomiting!” Stevens pointed at where Masters heaved into the fireplace. “He said Muggle alcohol isn’t as potent as wizard one, so Fiona challenged him to a drinking game.”

 

“And how’s Wood?” asked Hermione, hoping the girl wasn’t in the same situation.

 

“I’m here, Professors.” Fiona waved from one of the sofas, playing cards and not even tipsy. 

 

“How much did  _ he _ imbue?” Hermione asked, tilting her head in Masters’ direction.

 

“Two healthy whisky glasses - about what my grandmother has before dinner. And  _ she’s _ 115,” the girl answered.

 

Draco walked over to Masters who was still making ugly noises. “And he’s vomiting like this?” Clapping the boy on the back, he added, more quietly, “Didn’t inherit the purebloods’ ability to hold their liquor, eh?”

 

He turned back to his colleague who was in the process of reprimanding Thomas Prewett and Justine Miller who had been involved in a heavy round of snogging right next to her. “How sick is he, Granger?”

 

Hermione muttered under her breath how she was, “A professor, not a physician, Jim,” but ran some diagnostic charms over Masters. “He’s fine. Should stop vomiting in a bit. I recommend a Sobering Potion and a lot of water.”

 

“No,” Draco stated.

 

“No?”

 

His lips curled into a smirk. “Wasn’t it you who told me that pupils learn best when they have a hands-on learning experience?” Hermione nodded, catching his train of thoughts easily. “Consider this such an experience. No Pain Potion tomorrow either. And go to your dorm  _ now _ .”

 

Masters groaned at Draco’s orders, but that only deepened the professor’s smirk. Hermione summoned a glass of water and cast a Health Monitoring Charm on him, so she would be alerted in case the student’s condition worsened overnight.

 

“And off to bed for the rest of you!” Hermione hollered, accepting the scandalised reactions from the students with a shrug. “Kindly take your underwear with you, Isabel!” she yelled after a girl who retrieved her bra from behind an armchair with an embarrassed squeak.

 

Once all the students had disappeared either up the stairwells or out the door, Draco turned to Hermione. “They all got the talk about the birds and bees, didn’t they?” he chuckled, vanishing the bottles of firewhisky with a flourish of his wand.

 

“I seriously hope so!” Hermione frowned. “That doesn’t exactly fall into my field of teaching expertise…”

 

“Remember that awkward week with Madam Pomfrey in fourth year? And that horrible potions lesson where Severus explained to us how to brew a Contraceptive Potion?” Draco remembered.

 

“Oh no, don’t remind me… ‘Perfect potion before swift satisfaction, always remember that, you hormonal fools!’” she laughed at her own imitation of the Potions master. 

 

Draco laughed along, slinging an arm around Hermione’s shoulders on an impulse while leading her out of the Slytherin common room. “I doubt Severus knows about the difference between ‘swift satisfaction’ and ‘good satisfaction’.” 

 

“But you do?” Hermione challenged, and he was almost certain that there was a flirty undertone. 

 

Instead of replying with, “Do you like me to prove it to you, hands-on?” like he wanted for two milliseconds, he said, puffing his chest, “Look at me! I’m irresistible!”  

 

It was a good thing the castle was so empty or Hermione’s joyous laugh would’ve woken them all. But Draco - he longed to make her laugh like that more often, especially with his arms around her.

 

* * *

 

Since the next day was a Saturday, and Draco, just like most students, had a habit of sleeping in, he greeted Hermione with a, “Please, tell me Potter and Weasley managed to de-age themselves in a tragic accident,” when he found that the witch was not alone at the High Table. 

 

Hermione, one toddler on every knee, smiled at him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but here you see the next generation of Potters and Weasleys. This is James,” she nodded at the black-haired, giggling boy on her right leg, “and this is Leo.” Unsurprisingly, Ron’s son was busy stuffing his face with breakfast.

 

“And their parents left them with you? I knew they were irresponsible.” 

 

Because he was obviously teasing, Hermione would have liked to smack him playfully, but she had her hands full of godchildren, so she settled for a falsely sweet smile. “No, they are merely having a little tour around the castle and will be back soon.”

 

“How delightful,” said Draco and he poured the two of them each a coffee, thoughtfully placing the cups away from the toddlers’ reach.

 

Just when Hermione was about to reply, a student appeared in front of their table. 

 

“Good morning, Matthews,” they greeted him.

 

“Good morning, Professors. Whose children are these?”

 

Patiently, because pupils were nothing if curious, she explained, “These are my godchildren, James Potter and Leo Weasley. They came to visit me today, along with their parents.”

 

The child’s eyes widened at the names. “Don’t forget to breathe, Matthews,” Draco instructed the star-struck student drily. 

 

“Harry Potter is in Hogwarts?  _ Himself _ ? But he-” 

 

“But he’s only Potter. Not a  _ big deal _ .” And with that, he brushed Matthews away, dismissing him back to the students’ table. 

 

Hermione, having heard her friends approaching from behind, started laughing at Draco’s grumpy expression that changed into one of indescribable discomfort when a hand fell on his shoulder.

 

“As I’m  _ only _ Potter,” Harry addressed Draco with a grin, “it shouldn't be such a hard thing for you to win a friendly round of Quidditch, right?” 

 

Hermione could see the cogs in the blond’s head turning. Of course, he didn’t want to lose his face in front of the students, on the other hand, he was as aware of their Quidditch record as Harry was, and that didn’t bode well for Draco.

 

“Are you challenging me?”

 

“Come on, Malfoy. You aren’t half bad as a Seeker,” Ginny interjected teasingly, taking James from Hermione’s lap. “Or have you grown rusty in your comfortable professor life?”

 

“Hey, it’s not  _ that _ comfortable!” Hermione said, a bit ruffled. “It’s  _ hard  _ work. And Malfoy will prove it.” Inwardly, she knew she manipulated him a bit. Only a tad. “You’re going to play, aren’t you, Draco?” She looked into his eyes with a layer of pleading, deliberately using his first name which she rarely did in public. And when she saw his expression soften, she knew she had him. She simply wanted to see him on a broom.

 

“Yes, of course. Anything for my favourite colleague, right?” And then he smiled at her. That was the moment Hermione almost forgot that it wasn’t only the two of them in the Great Hall. Even though a wary voice inside her head whispered that he only did this for show in front of her friends. 

 

* * *

 

No matter how the game came to be, Hermione really enjoyed watching. It was a bit of a trip down memory lane for her. But without Voldemort. Without war.

 

With Draco and Harry playing Seekers and Ron Keeper, they had stocked up the rest of their teams with members of the student body, which resulted in a colourful mix of houses. Lavender had left for a visit in Hogsmeade, and Hermione was a bit grateful for that because she still had problems finding topics to talk about with Ron’s wife. They seemed to live in different spheres of existence, really. That left Hermione and Ginny, who had made themselves comfortable with a blanket next to the Quidditch pitch, Leo and James napping between them, protected by sun screens.

 

“Why aren’t you playing, Ginny?” Hermione asked, curious. 

 

“That wouldn’t be fair, would it? Besides, my healer says I rather shouldn’t.” 

 

“Ginny, are you pregnant again?!”

 

“Merlin, no!” her friend exclaimed. “James is only two. We want to wait a bit before we try for another child. It’s just that my healer said my shoulder isn’t as well as it should be.” 

 

Hermione nodded in understanding. Ginny had been pushed off her broom when the Harpies had played against the Chudley Cannons, and her shoulder had been severely crushed and damaged. 

 

A bit sorrowful, Ginny added, “And as it’s probably never going to heal completely, I have decided to retire from Quidditch and start as a sports journalist for the British Quidditch section of the Prophet.”

 

“Oh, Gin! That’s great!” Hermione was excited for her friend, knowing professional Quidditch wasn’t something one did for decades.

 

Ginny shrugged but smiled now. “I guess. I’m going to have much more time for James. And, you know,” she winked suggestively, “more _ adult  _ time for Harry and me.”

 

“Ginny! There are students around!”

 

“Yes, and they’re all captivated by the Quidditch game.” Indeed, all present students intensely stared up to the players. Faintly, the women could see the two Seekers circling high above. “And I can’t help it if my husband is so talented with his  _ wand _ ,” Ginny laughed, enjoying how Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.

 

“I really don’t want to hear that!” 

 

“That I have sex? Merlin, it’s fun, you should try it some time!” Ginny teased her. 

 

“That’s what I invited Charlie over for, you hussy, but he couldn’t come,” Hermione countered, her voice a bit more quiet than her friend’s. “Other than that, my options are more than limited here!” 

 

Exactly in that moment, Draco flew by, his body pressed to his broomstick and hair perfectly windswept. Hermione felt her heart accelerating. Draco Malfoy on a broomstick in Quidditch gear was a marvelous sight. And then, he winked at her. 

 

She must have made some noise as a reaction to that, for Ginny playfully nudged her and conspirationally whispered, “Maybe not as limited as you think.”

 

Prying her eyes from him, Hermione warned, “Ginny…”

 

“What? I am married, not dead. He _ is _ painfully handsome, and from what I’ve heard, almost as smart as you,” the redhead supplied helpfully.

 

“That may be, but we’re just colleagues. Friends, even,” Hermione waved her off.

 

“Mhmm,” was Ginny’s not-so-wordy reaction.

 

“And he is  _ so _ stubborn.”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“And we have a history.” That was a legitimate argument, wasn’t it?

 

“If you say so.”

 

“We’re working so well together. I don’t want to risk that.”

 

“Yes, yes.” Ginny copied her mother perfectly now.

 

“He’s still an arrogant git.”

 

“ _ Surprise _ .”

 

“You don’t believe me one word, right?” Hermione finished, a bit embarrassed.

 

Ginny laughed. “I’m just saying that denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.” She pointed at the green and silver clad Seeker. “And girl, have you seen that bum?” 

 

Of course Hermione had.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione supposed, judging by Draco’s broad smile and the Snitch decorating the High Table for dinner, that his team had won. Harry and Ron’s surly faces when they said goodbye merely supported that theory. Her thoughts, however, circulated around her conversation with Ginny. 

 

Was it only an innocent summer flirt, if at all, between Draco and her? How deep was her attraction, physical and mental, towards her colleague? Was it enough to risk a friendship she valued over it? 

 

“See? It was only Potter, after all,” he said, cheeks still pink from exertion and eyes a bright grey. “What a glorious day, don’t you agree, Hermione?” 

 

Maybe it was the use of her first name, or maybe it was the way he looked at her, so carefree and elated, but suddenly, she knew: she was screwed when it came to Draco. And if they ever had the chance to become more than friends, she’d take it.

  
  
  



	6. Bored Students are Challenging Students

 

As it turned out, even being confined to a very large castle with a lot of space led the present individuals to develop some kind of cabin fever. Hermione had no idea how, but someone had managed to smuggle Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products into the castle, as well as some more simple prank ideas. 

 

This led to situations one could consider comical. For example, one morning, she was in the midst of teaching the younger student some basic Transfiguration they had obviously not paid attention to during the regular school year, when Jessica Lee vomited on the classroom floor. The incident had rather disgusted the professor, but she wouldn’t let her faze her. “Puking Pastilles, really?” Hermione asked, not above rolling her eyes as way of expressing herself. “What’s next? U-No-Poo?” 

 

Jessica looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights, probably not having considered the professor’s extensive prank product knowledge. 

 

“You should know I have spent too many days reversing Fred and George Weasleys’ experimental joke products since the Nineties.” She whipped her wand and didn’t only vanish the result of the Puking Pastilles, but every WWW product within her classroom, much to the students’ horror who grasped their now empty pockets. “I’m not so easy to distract, Jessica. You should know that by now. So stop pretending, and name Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration and its exceptions.” 

 

Still in shock, the girl perfectly recited all four of them perfectly.

 

The next victim had was Draco, and the look on his face when he sat down for dinner and a very loud, unmistakably farting noise was released was priceless, and almost worth sitting next to an irritated Malfoy who mumbled about how, “Whoopee cushions should be classified as Dark objects.” Nevertheless, she vowed to discuss her observations concerning the cabin fever with her colleague the next morning, complete with her plans to lower it.

 

However, when she returned to her quarters that evening from her rounds, she received a surprise that sped her fever relief plans up quite a bit.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco opened the door, surprised. Originally, he and Hermione had decided to skip their more informal talks for the evening because they both had a stack of papers to read. Though, it was a pleasant surprise for him. 

 

Hermione stood in front of his door. And she was  _ soaking wet _ . So wet he couldn’t help to notice that the (thank Merlin) white shirt she wore perfectly showcased her deep purple bra and even her pebbled- 

 

“ _ Professor Malfoy  _ -” 

 

Fuck, she was really angry when she addressed him like that. 

 

“As you see, I’m _ very wet  _ right now.”  Only the rage in her voice stopped him from taking up on this pun. “And so I came here to my favourite colleague to ask him,” at these words from her lips Draco felt more ordered than asked, “to reign his Slytherin students in,” she finished, the water dripping from her body onto the ancient stone floor in front of his quarters. He wanted to be that floor.

 

“I can’t say I’m too appalled by their deeds, my dearest Professor Granger.” He found himself in foreplay mode without deciding it actively and casually leaned against his door. “And how do you even know it’s the Slytherins I owe this piece of art to?” 

 

“Stop your pretend flirting, Draco! Of course, it’s been them!” With a flick of her wrist, Hermione summoned an object wandlessly. Namely, a bucket with a Slytherin emblem on it. 

 

Draco raised his hands in defeat, grinning at the same time. “Okay, even with the evidence not being  _ waterproof _ , I’m going to talk to them tomorrow.” 

 

“Thank you. That’s all I want. Just for your information, with this level of cabin fever, I intend to take them on a field trip to London, as I have some things to do there. And you will come along.” Again, an order. And Draco didn’t even feel bad or incensed about being ordered around by this incredible witch whose eyes were sparkling at him.

 

He leaned forward, nodding approvingly, and ran an equally wandless Drying Charm over her, his hand only inches from her skin and fabric. He swore he could hear her breathing in sharply when he reached her breast. Though the temptation was definitely there, he refrained from touching her. “Just for  _ your _ information, Hermione,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “you’d know if my flirting were pretend.” 

 

To see her reacting with glazed eyes and a well-defined blush on her cheeks made him warm inside, and he could actually see her thinking To give her the final poke, he pecked on the cheek, saying, “Sweet dreams,” before closing the door. And heading for a cold late night shower.

 

* * *

 

 

Three days later, the group of excited students and two professors stepped onto Diagon Alley through a public floo. To assure that everyone arrived safe and in one piece was demanding, but walking around the wizarding street was an entirely different act.

 

Curious glances followed them, although ‘curious was a polite stretch for some persons they encountered. The public’s eye rested more on the two professors than on the students they led. Hermione, always the Golden Girl, received glances filled with awe and respect. But even though Draco had largely re-established his own name in the eyes of the wizarding society, it was rare that he was seen performing his role as Professor. And now, at Hermione Granger’s side? That was topic to gossip about in the Leaky Cauldron or at afternoon tea.

 

“Draco, I’m not sure I’d like to be on the front page tomorrow,” Hermione spoke to her colleague, the students meandering around them (meaning: some were trailing behind, some were dreamily staring at a store window, and others were listening to what their teachers had to say).

 

He hummed in agreement and waved his wand.   

“Did you just cast a Distraction Charm, Professor Malfoy?” a student asked.

 

“Well done, Wood. That’s correct.” 

 

“Why?” Wood had obviously stared at the store window.

 

“Because Professor Malfoy and I would like to avoid us together in the  _ Prophet _ .” After she closed her mouth, Hermione realized how her words could be interpreted and, for the life of her, couldn’t suppress a slight blush. “I didn’t mean  _ together _ , I mean as in one photo closely associated.” Some girls giggled.

 

“Yes, because you calling me by my first name in public so helps this matter,” Draco whispered next to her ear, and she could  _ feel _ his smirk. Annoying, attractive git.

 

As a professional, she overcame her momentary fib and whistled on her fingers to gather the students around her, a trick she had learned from her mentor at uni (“It works with dogs, it works with pupils.”) Slightly raising her voice, she reminded the group, “We’re going to visit the Natural History Museum today, so remember what we talked about: no touching, no slouching, no noise.”

 

* * *

 

While the visit to the museum had been uneventful, if a bit boring for Draco because the students had actually behaved and acted interested in the exhibited history, the following shopping trip in Muggle London was more of a challenge for him. This probably had a lot to do with the circumstance that he now bore the responsibility for the group all alone since Hermione had gone who-knows-where to run her super important errand.

 

Though, he was a smart man and a very skilled wizard, so he used a nifty spell he had found in the Malfoy library a while ago and traced the steps of each student with the help of a map. Originally, some ancestor had developed this to follow his unmannerly wife - which resulted in him ending up at the wrong side of her wand and a comment in his ancestor’s memoirs that he had been lucky to have already produced an heir beforehand. 

 

Smirking to himself as he unfolded the map after casting a Muggle repelling charm under the table, he enjoyed the warm summer day in front of a lovely café. The pretty waitress had tried to flirt with him when she brought him his Earl Grey, but Draco had merely politely smiled at her. Because, for one, he was on duty, and two… he had slowly, but surely come to terms that his interest lay elsewhere. With one, brilliant, annoying Charms colleague of his.

 

“So, where are you, future of the wizarding world?” he mumbled, searching the map.

 

To his pleasant surprise, most of the students had distributed over various Muggle shops: books, cosmetics, clothes, shoes, all the Muggle things he had learned that girls and boys appreciated in their daily life but one couldn’t purchase in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. He also noticed, and that made him proud and hopeful, that those with experience in the Muggle world had taken the purebloods under their wings. Most of them had never left the wizarding world before, and that was something the staff of Hogwarts, all responsible adults really, should work on to correct. For Draco, it had been a terrifying, exciting, and in the end, very rewarding experience when he had ventured into the Muggle world on his own after the war. Because he had known he had to learn. Because he had known he needed to see his world with different eyes. 

 

All of a sudden, his gaze froze. A group of six boys had entered an etablissement that was labelled  _ Betty’s Booby Bravado _ …

 

* * *

 

[90 minutes later]

 

“A strip club? Merlin, you are kidding me, right?” Hermione said, exasperated. “There probably is a very good explanation for that, isn’t there? Did one of you have a heart attack and you went there for medical help or something?” She could see Draco, who stood behind the six boys as she berated them, suppressing his laughter. 

 

“But, as we already told Professor Malfoy, Smith is a Muggle-born, you know? And he said there were women who showed their boobs in that building! We couldn’t pass this opportunity up now, could we?” Everton explained, beet-red. 

 

Hermione still huffed, but when her eyes met Draco’s, she couldn’t fight a slight smile. He had probably been a bit more inwardly understanding, having been a male teenager himself to whom the word “boobs” was the most powerful existing spell. But he had left it to her to play the “bad cop”, a Muggle reference he had adopted very quickly.

 

Though, the more pressing rule break hadn’t been that they had visited the club, but that they had Confunded the doorkeeper to let them in. The only reason they hadn’t a flock of unfriendly owls from the Improper Use of Magic Office sitting on their shoulders was that the summer students’ ban from using magic had been lifted so they still could practise and learn.

 

“You’re very lucky I can’t take house points over the summer!” Hermione reprimanded the students. “But the house elves could need a bit time off, so you all just  _ volunteered _ to prepare breakfast for the next week.” 

 

She turned and laughed to herself, hearing one student saying, “She’s joking, right?  _ Right, _ Professor Malfoy?” 

 

Draco’s deep, resonating chuckle made her want to turn back. “Professor Granger never makes fun about house elf labour. And you better get the coffee right.” 

 

* * *

 

“What has you so broody this evening? Has it something to do with the errand you ran while I had to handle a bunch of boob-crazy boys?” 

 

Hermione smiled at Draco from her place on his sofa, taken out of her reverie. She swirled the delicious Merlot in her wine glass. “Not at all, and I think you handled them quite well. But yes, it has something to do with what I did in the meantime. You remember how I told you I had a hunch about Jacob Higgins but had to confirm some things?” 

 

Draco nodded, remembering the day they diagnosed each students’ level of competence. 

 

Hermione turned fully towards him, continuing to explain, “Well, you see, Jacob reminded me of a boy in my primary school class. I contacted my former teacher, and she sent me instructions to test him a few days ago. I discussed the results with her today. And my gut feeling was right - he has a moderate learning difficulty and would, in the Muggle school system, be what is called a SEN case. Jacob is a pupil with Special Educational Needs.” 

 

Intrigued, Draco leaned forward, his elbows leaning on his legs, his head on the folded hands. The slight crease between his brows indicated that he was thinking about this new information. A very attractive look on him, Hermione thought, not for the first time. “What does this mean for us as a school and for Higgins as a pupil?” he sincerely asked.

 

She had expected that question and launched to answer. “This means that we have to adapt our schooling, at least partially, so Jacob can make as much progress as possible considering his capabilities without having to pass the regular exams because it would be unfair for him to take them. He can’t meet the same expectations as the others, at least not in most areas of what we teach. Mrs Johnson, my primary school teacher, gave me some book titles that could help us, along with some material we can orientate ourselves with. She also told me that we might have to explain some tasks individually, in simpler words, and that step-by-step imitation can be helpful.” 

 

“So, let’s say I’m going to teach the class the Shield Spell,” Draco wanted to know. “I’m going to go over to Higgins afterwards and demonstrate to him the wand movements and incantations step-by-step? And maybe, in the next lesson, I’ll do it again. And instead of having him write a theoretical essay, I could, for example, have him come to my office and demonstrate what he has achieved.” 

 

Hermione felt herself smiling broadly. “Exactly!” 

 

Then, Draco fell silent for a while, eyes on the darkening sky outside the window, before he shared, “Jacob Higgins can’t be the only one with that diagnosis in the history of Hogwarts. I mean, you remember Goyle, don’t you? He could handle the practical part of most lessons alright after a few days, but his essays were… unreadable.” 

 

“Yes, you’re absolutely correct. We probably have and had more pupils at Hogwarts with special needs! Of course, the records don’t mention anything, but why should it be any different here than in the rest of Great Britain?” 

 

Her voice had grown harder, so that Draco stated, “You’re angry.” 

 

“Yes! We’ve been so negligent! We’re teachers, for Merlin’s sake! Why didn’t that occur to us earlier?!” 

 

On that, Draco had an answer because he had already pondered it. “Look at our community, Hermione. We practically shun the weakest members, those without magical abilities, make them outcasts. What do you expect?” 

 

Hermione looked at him in awe, realising he  _ really _ had paid attention to her, and had just spoke some ugly, but true, words about their community. 

 

But he wasn’t done yet. “We have to change that,” he continued, his resolve growing stronger.  “Complicated and difficult it may be, but we can’t believe us tolerant because we longer discriminate against Muggle-borns.” 

 

Hermione’s smile could light the entire castle. “I could kiss you right now, Professor Malfoy!” 

 

“Why don’t you?” he asked, leaning his arm on the rest of the couch, opening his posture to her.

 

To his utter surprise, Hermione leaned forward and gave him a very soft kiss, just a careful, but definitely press of her soft lips, whispering a “Thank you.” against his lips. The contact might have had a duration of two seconds, but Draco was affected as if she had snogged him for minutes.

 

Then, she jumped back into work mode, backing away from him and pulling a roll of parchment from somewhere. “I’ve already formulated a petition to be handed to the Board of Governors...” 

 

Draco needed some seconds to catch up with her because he still felt the tingle of her lips, her scent in his nose, and her warmth she put into the kiss. Were she any other witch, he would’ve been put off at her sudden switch of behaviour, returning back to a topic of work after such a game-changer like a bloody brilliant, completely innocent kiss. 

 

But this was Hermione Granger. Draco knew, for all the affection she showered the people close to her with, she was ruled by logic and rationality. She needed time to process such events, even when the kiss had clearly been initiated by herself. He would wait. And, judging by the openly curious and coy expression in her eyes when she peeked up from under her lashes to discuss some points of the parchment with him, he wouldn’t have to wait for long. Or maybe she wanted him to take the initiative the next time around?

 

Draco smiled, elated. He was  _ definitely _ ready to find an answer to that question. 


	7. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

Over the next week, the students worked harder and more diligently than ever before. That could have been due to the weather change from sunny to persistent rain, but Hermione liked to believe that they had simply found their intrinsic motivation promoted by learning success. 

 

All in all, Hermione had long since overcome her initial moodiness and was in teacher heaven with small groups, time for individual support, and no distractions by weather that enticed them to spend time outside the library or the classroom. Masters had executed a duel on a decent level without hurting anyone - not even himself. Stevens had managed to brew three out of five potions correctly while enduring a perfect Snape imitation by Draco (Disillusionment Charm and famous phrases included). Even Jacob Higgins, after a step-by-step repeat of the instructions, transfigured a teacup into a pencil and then back again. 

 

In addition to all that, the fact that the boob-tempted boys had somehow prepared a decent breakfast and, more importantly, a good coffee, Hermione was in a quite generous mood. And because she was Hermione Granger, premiere ambassador for the Muggle culture, she couldn’t be generous towards her students without giving them an opportunity to learn something new.   

 

And a movie night turned out to be a  _ really _ good idea.

 

They had gathered all the students in the Great Hall, and she had organised the technical equipment while Draco had conjured sleeping bags, pillows, and soft blankets and arranged them on the floor. After contemplating for some time, Hermione had chosen two films: ‘Finding Nemo’ as entertainment for the younger students and a Bond movie (‘GoldenEye’) for the older ones. The latter one was already nearly a decade old, but it was the first in the franchise with Pierce Brosnan, whom she’d had a small crush on at the time of release, and, honestly, she did it for him and not for England. 

 

“What’s it with Muggles and their fascination with movies?” Draco asked, curiously. He sat beside her on the cushioned floor, behind all the students, and kept his eyes on the screen with interest.

 

She scooted a bit closer to him so that the students wouldn’t be disturbed by their talking. Or at least that’s what she told herself. Ever since she had kissed him -  _ briefly _ \- she often found herself in very close proximity to the wizard, mostly not knowing whether it was him who stepped into her personal space or the other way around. She simply enjoyed the casual closeness, the occasional touches, and most of all, the excitement. 

 

“I can’t speak for all Muggles, but it’s really just something I grew up with. It’s a favourite pastime of many people for logical enough reasons. It tells stories and allows identification and escape.”

 

“Identification?” 

 

She could feel his low voice vibrating through the fabric of her sleeve where it touched his arm. 

 

“Yes. Let’s take a look at James Bond here. He’s the perfect picture of a man. Successful with the ladies, smart, mysterious, and saves the world on a daily basis. So when you’re working in an office from nine to five, have two children, a dog, and a wife who isn’t anywhere close to looking like these Bond girls, it gives the viewer a sense of ‘what if’, and he can pretend to be like him for a bit,” she explained, trying not to be too distracted by Draco’s presence next to her.

 

“Then why don’t we have an equivalent of that in the wizarding world?” he inquired further. “I mean, it’s not like we all live an exciting life here and personally vanquish the world of all evil like you and Potter.” 

 

Hermione smiled in the dark at his thoughtful ponderings. “You know, it wasn’t as adventurous as it sounds,” she admitted. “But if I had to take a guess, I suppose it’s because the objects with whom the people identify with are a bit different in the wizarding world. Powerful sorcerers, Quidditch players, and such.”

 

“And the children?” Draco continued, deep in thought. “They also need reasonable role models and identification options. And I don’t think all parents are up to their standards.” 

 

Hermione instantly knew he was talking about himself and Lucius. “Absolutely. But you grew out of it, didn’t you? You distanced yourself from your family’s beliefs,” she said softly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

 

“But it took a lot of pain and blood for me. And a long healing process.” He pensively rested his eyes on her hand.

 

“I know. But look where you stand today. You are a responsible, hard working, and admired professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The students look up to you. Would you have expected that some years ago?”

 

Smiling softly, though with a definite layer of playful, Draco took Hermione’s hand in his. She was helpless upon this gentle act. “No,” he said. “I didn’t expect Hermione Granger to call me responsible and admirable. ‘Evil, loathsome, little cockroach’, yes, but-” 

 

She interrupted him by tugging him back with the hand he held, causing him to tumble to his side, leaving the other unprotected for a tickle attack. Yes, Hermione knew Draco was ticklish, and he usually underplayed that, but this time, she took him by surprise.

 

“ _ Huh _ ,” he said, trying to cover his laughter. Thankfully, the movie was loud enough to do so. Satisfied that she had interrupted his teasing, Hermione stopped her attack, leaving Draco practically lying over her lap. And he didn’t make a move. “I think I’m staying here. If you can keep your hands to yourself, that is,” he challenged with a taunting smile.  

 

Hermione really didn’t want him to leave. He was warm and comforting, especially when he rearranged his position and rested his head on her thigh. Her heartbeat accelerated, and she longed to run her fingers through the blond locks.

 

“Well, I think I could, but not everyone has that much of a grip on themselves, it seems.” Hermione pointed to two sleeping bags about fifteen metres away. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones making use of the cosy, darkened environment.

 

With a heartfelt sigh, Draco pushed himself into an upright position to see what was going on. And indeed, two students, judging by the soft noises and movements, were snogging heavily.

 

“Keep it in your pants, Worrington!” Draco bellowed. “And Miss Woods, hands where we can see them!” 

 

The group reacted with a wave of laughter and giggling when Fiona, who herself laughed the loudest, stretched both arms over her head, wiggling her fingers.

 

“One hippogriff space between you two from now on!” Draco ordered, and the students obliged. After the two put some distance between their sleeping bags, the laughter quieted down, and the group concentrated on the movie again. 

 

Hermione couldn’t suppress a snorting laugh. “You are so mean!”

 

“I know,” Draco replied and resumed his former position. “With great power comes great responsibility.”

 

She snorted again but finally sunk her fingers into his hair. And yes, it was as soft as it looked - soft and  _ strong _ . Unbidden, her brain conjured images of her grabbing the very same hair while its owner lowered his head between her naked legs. Hermione slowly exhaled, trying to control her body and mind. Merlin, could Draco smell her aroused state? She shook her head and cast a light Delusionment Charm on them, not wanting the students to see them so close to each other, even innocently so.  

 

Instead of unholy thoughts, she concentrated on how Draco felt beneath her fingers and looked at his face. He had closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She thought she had never seen him so vulnerable, so relaxed, so… adorable, for the lack of a better word. It felt perfect. Her heart filled with warmth, and she focused on the screen and the movie again. 

 

At some point during the film, Draco must have fallen asleep, for Hermione heard him mumbling, with closed eyes, “I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” She traced a finger over his cheek and his lips curled into a smile. Her insides turned to pudding.

 

By the Founders, she was in serious trouble.  

 

* * *

  
“For the love of Nargles, we’re  _ friends _ . And it’s not a  _ date _ or something!” Hermione muttered to herself. 

 

Three days had passed after the movie night and what had happened there between Draco and her made her somewhat nervous to ask what she was about to ask. 

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at her incoherent mumblings, curious for the reasons behind them. It was not unusual for her to do that, though, but typically it was when she was grading essays in the staff room and oftentimes involved a lot more eye-rolling.

 

Then, she drowned her coffee with finality and asked as casually as possible, hoping her devious plan would work, “Draco, do you own a formal Muggle three piece?” 

 

“Why?” Draco inquired, his own coffee cup sitting mid-air.

 

“Because I think we deserve an evening away from the students.” Hermione tried to sound confident but couldn’t stop herself from nervously running her finger around the edge of her now empty cup. “And I already checked with Neville and Hagrid, and they agreed to watch the children on Saturday for us, and-”

 

“Just spit it out already, Granger.” Draco’s eyes sparkled with humour. “You’re not Slytherin enough to make me believe you don’t have an ulterior motive, so what do you want?”

 

Oh, Hermione wanted a great many things from him, but first on her list was something a bit embarrassing. She sighed  _ again  _ and decided to come forth with the truth. “My cousin Peter is getting married this Saturday, and I’m in a bit of a bind. You see, my parents can’t go because they are on a cruise in the Mediterranean Sea. He’s one of the few people in my family who know about my magic. But the rest of them are just --” her voice trailed off.

 

“As bookwormish as you?” he suggested without malice.

 

Hermione scoffed.  “No, they are the exact  _ opposite _ of that. My father must have been switched at birth or something, because we’re  _ so _ different from the rest of the family--well, except for Peter. They’re all just so superficial, and so uninterested in culture, and a tad snobbish, too,” she explained.

 

“And because I’m all that as well you want to invite me to be your plus one?”

 

“No! Yes! Maybe,” Hermione sputtered and pinched Draco’s arm when he laughed at her. “It’s just… you know how to behave around such people. And at Grandmother’s eightieth birthday, they made a bit fun of me because I came alone. I figured you would impress them.” By now, she had flattened her hand on his arm and was drawing soft, small circles with her thumb, gazing up at him with what she hoped were wide, pleading, damsel-in-distress brown eyes.

 

He chuckled at her obviousness, but she could have sworn his voice had been trembling every so slightly when he answered, “Because you have such charming arguments, I have no choice but to give in, don’t I? I’m your date on Saturday.”  

 

“It’s  _ not  _ a date!” She gave him a dazzling, honest smile. Then, she realized how her last words could be interpreted and, indeed, his coffee cup had stilled in his hand again. She jumped to correct herself. “Because taking you to a relative’s wedding would be a sorry excuse for a first date, wouldn’t it?”

 

Apparently relieved that she hadn’t simply dismissed going on a first date with him, Draco smirked. “Yes, absolutely.” And then he had stopped talking for the rest of breakfast, occasionally humming to himself. Hermione wondered if he was planning a date with her in his head. 

 

* * *

 

The time until the next Saturday flew by in a whirlwind of teaching and tutoring, so Hermione had barely had time to think about her cousin’s wedding until she actually got ready for it. 

 

Wolf whistling accompanied Hermione’s descent down the steps, and she grinned at Hagrid. The truth was, she felt positively gorgeous in her long, midnight blue dress. The flowing hem and the broad straps were decorated with small rhinestones, and the slit on her right side, ending just above her knee, added a bit of moderate sexiness to her outfit. Her black, high heeled sandals were as comfortable as her every day flats, thanks to some handy charms.

 

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she said, smiling appreciatively at the gameskeeper, but her attention quickly shifted elsewhere.

 

Expectantly, she looked at Draco, who stood next to the half-giant.

 

“This is the part where you compliment me. Like, ‘You look beautiful, Granger,’ or something along those lines. I thought you were raised with manners.” Hermione grinned at the blond, rearranging her tamed curls over her shoulders.

 

Two seconds later, Draco shook his head as if clearing it and then said, “Hermione, you are always beautiful, but tonight, you’re stunning.” 

 

The sincerity and unexpected awe in his voice made her blush maniacally, and, due to her reaction, he blinked slowly twice, as if just then realising that his honest thoughts had actually left his mouth. To an outside observer, it’d be easy to believe that neither one of them had ever been on a date before.

 

But this was decidedly  _ not  _ a date, Hermione reminded herself. 

 

“Thank you, Draco.” she mumbled, trying not to show too blatantly how his words affected her. “You’re looking quite handsome yourself.” 

 

And he did. His three piece Muggle suit, probably tailored to make every single one of his attractive physical attributes stand out, made her a bit weak in the knees when she looked at him too long.

 

“Thank you. Are we ready to go then?” He asked, about to offer her his elbow.

 

“Just wait one more moment, and then I’m all yours for the evening.” 

 

She walked into the Great Hall, where Hagrid (she couldn’t even remember when he had left the two of them) had just sat down next to Neville. The students had already come in for lunch, and Hermione saw Draco glaring at a few older, male students who lingered at her form a bit too long. She found his misplaced possessiveness strangely endearing. Belated, Hermione realized that her and Draco coming to the Great Hall looking like that didn’t exactly stop the ongoing bets about them from circulating. 

 

“Okay, boys, behave and leave everything as it is. No magical creatures, no funny herbal teas, and no stupid pissing contests!” 

 

“We promise, Professor Granger,” Masters answered automatically, deliberately keeping his eyes over her (not even that deep plunging, but certainly deeper than her teaching robes’) neckline.

 

“I’m talking to the Professors, not to you lot, sweetheart,” she teased the boy. Long ago, she had found out that calling her students silly pet names worked efficiently to tease them (and, when the situation called for it, embarrassed them a bit). 

 

Like a charm, Marsters blinked owlishly and lowered his eyes, receiving a laughing clap on his shoulder by his neighbour. 

 

Draco snorted quietly but asked his two colleagues, “And are you really sure you will survive taking over our duties for one evening?” 

 

“Yes, of course,” Neville answered honestly. “You are here all summer, so you deserve a night off. Enjoy your evening.” The Herbology professor made a shooing hand gesture, and with the feeling of a parent leaving their children to be supervised by a babysitter for the first time, Hermione let herself be guided to the nearest Floo towards the Leaky Cauldron, from where she would Apparate them.

 

* * *

 

As soon as they had landed behind a group of trees, Hermione started motivating herself.

“You can do this, Hermione. It’s just a bloody family thing.” 

 

“Oh, I assure you, Granger,” Draco drily remarked, “it’s not as bloody as my family things. All the Muggles and creatures -” 

 

She smacked him lightly, appreciating his effort to make her relax, and looped her arm around his. Together, they walked towards the nearby villa.

 

“Remind me then not to accept any invitation for a stay at Malfoy Manor if your family reunions are always like that. Oh, I forgot - been there and done that already.” 

 

Draco sobered instantly, halting her steps with his hand on her wrist in a gentle grip. “You should come and look at. It’s been completely renovated. The Manor, I mean.”

Before Hermione could reply, an amused, male voice interrupted them. “A manor? I’m afraid we can only offer you this modest villa.” The man pointed at the vast building behind him.

 

She rolled her eyes and hugged her cousin. Peter had always been the sole person in her extended family that she got along with. He had always accepted her “otherness” as something natural, and they still remained close even after she had confessed her magic to him after the war - being friends with the Minister of Magic sometimes had its advantages when it came to the regulations of the Statue of Secrecy.

 

“This is Draco. We work together,” she introduced her colleague, hoping she didn’t sound too fond of him.

 

Peter quirked his eyebrows, obviously catching onto the evasiveness of her wording. Spending so many hours around a Slytherin had taught Hermione a thing or two. It was subtle, but it was more than enough information to convey that he was ‘like her’. 

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Draco,” Peter said, extending his hand in greeting. “When you feel the urge to hex one of the relatives - well, just make it look inconspicuous, yes?”

 

Draco shook Peter’s hand with confidence, and Hermione felt validated in her decision to bring him. “No problem. That talent is one of our Malfoy specials.” 

 

That smirk would be the death of her one day.

 

* * *

 

But, of course, she had been right in her assessment of Draco. He fit into the wedding party as if he did this sort of thing every other day of the week, and he certainly knew how to handle her nosey relatives.

 

“So you’ve become a teacher, Hermione?” Aunt Iris asked with thinly veiled haughtiness, her daughter Nora hovering nearby.

 

“Yes. I realised I could do more good in the world by teaching than by being trapped inside a Ministry cubicle. So I only worked for the Ministry for about a year before I went back to university.” Not that she hadn’t told everyone that years ago.  

 

“And you, Draco? You’re into business, I suppose?” 

 

Draco smiled that kind of smile she knew was connected to a bout of superiority. “As much as my father wants me to follow him as head of our traditional family business, I must say I find the teaching position more fulfilling. Maybe one day I’ll follow my ancestors’ footsteps, but not for the next few years. The company has been there for centuries, so it won’t go anywhere before then.” 

 

Hermione rolled her eyes when Iris and Nora  _ ahhed _ in adoration, but she couldn’t help feel a bit triumphant at Draco’s subtle way of expressing that he came from old money. 

 

The more the party progressed, the more opportunities Hermione had to admire Draco’s ability to act totally effortlessly among her relatives. He charmed ancient Great-aunt Margaret by asking about her life in the 1920s (she had been a bit of a spitfire back then), expertly conversed about fishing with her uncles (how he had that extensive knowledge was beyond her; she only hoped it wasn’t Legilimency), and even got one of the smaller guests to laugh again after the poor boy scraped his knee. She caught him conjuring a stuffed cat out of thin air which could have ended in disaster, but the others didn’t notice, and little Sammy gave Draco a heartwarming, toothless smile, so she supposed she could let him off the hook. 

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Hermione found herself dancing with her favourite cousin while Draco led the bride across the dance floor with perfect ease. Just another thing he was exceptionally good at. 

 

“So, am I going to be attending a magical wedding next year?” Peter asked with a smile, following her eyes towards Draco and his new wife. He and Hermione tried their luck at coordinated steps but ended up swaying from one side to the other together.

 

“No!” she said a bit too loud. “Draco and I are friends and colleagues, but nothing more.” 

 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” her cousin accused her, still laughing, and Hermione felt her cheeks warm involuntarily. Was she that easy to read? 

 

“Stop it! I just barely wrapped my head around the fact that I might have a thing for him. And don’t forget, we’ve already come a long way, him and I, considering we were far from being friends for many years.” She didn’t need to repeat the entire story, as Peter was already familiar with it. Not the nasty details like her being tortured on his family manor’s drawing room floor, but rather the big picture of them being on different sides of the war and how Draco had redeemed himself.  

 

“What’s one more step then? I’ve known you my entire life, and I might only have met him today, but I can see how soft your smile gets when you look at him. Not to mention how he’s always finding an excuse to touch you.” 

 

At the realisation that he was correct, about the touching thing, at least, something warm tingled in her stomach like a bottle of Felix Felicis. “But what if it’s only… physical attraction? Or simply not enough of a spark to risk our friendship over it?” She hated how insecure she sounded. 

 

“Listen to your experienced, hence married, cousin, Hermione. There’s more than enough spark between you two. I’d even go so far as to call it ‘magic’.”

 

She laughed and interrupted their dancing to envelope Peter in a loving hug. “Thank you. I needed that.”

 

For about a minute, they swayed along with the music, until Peter spoke up again, “So, whenever it comes to that wedding, you’re going to invite me, right?”

 

Hermione grinned. Optimism had always been a strong trait of Peter’s. Her eyes fell on Draco, who was all too easy to find with his distinctively coloured hair, and also spotted the tipsy woman with the too generous cleavage who was now dancing with him. “There won’t be a magical wedding for you to attend if I don’t step in right now, otherwise the potential groom will have been swallowed whole before he ever got the chance!” 

 

Peter turned and agreed, “Ouch, yes, better go. Cousin Sophia can get quite handsy after she’s had a few drinks.” 

 

Carefully lifting her long dress, Hermione walked over to the dancing pair. When her eyes met Draco’s, she saw a mix of panic and disgust evident in them, and she could also see why. Sophia’s hands were nowhere near his shoulders, but more wandering towards his delectable bum. 

 

“Draco,” Hermione tapped his shoulder, stepping in a bit rudely but not caring about it. “I’m afraid I’ve danced myself into a frenzy and feel rather heated. Would you accompany me outside to catch some fresh air?” 

 

Dropping his arms like he had been burned, he drawled, “Obviously,” before remembering his manners and adding a “Thank you for the dance, Miss,” for appearance. 

 

Once outside in the generous gardens, they were surprised by a clear sky, considering the day had been cloudy. The stars sparkled down on them, and the atmosphere was what one could call romantic. 

 

Until Draco opened his mouth. 

 

“I forgot how, excuse my language,  _ horny _ women can become on weddings, even at a relatively small one like this.” 

 

Sitting down on a stone bench, Hermione replied, “Well, the Astorias of the world aren’t exclusively witches.” She had no idea why she even brought that topic up.

 

“What do you mean?” Draco frowned as he sat down next to her, so close that their thighs just barely touched. 

 

“What I mean is that Astoria’s intentions towards you were pretty clear, even if you rejected her.” 

 

“And what’s so wrong about that? She’s a young, independent woman, albeit with a good portion of pureblood princess in her. It’s her right to proposition a man, don’t you agree?”

 

Hermione groaned, frustrated. “Yes, of course I do. That’s not… I…” she got stuck in her own feelings, and that incensed her even more. 

 

“You’re jealous!”

 

She snapped her head in his direction. “Am not!” Again, the denial came a bit too loud, too fast. And the stupid man had the nerve to smirk.

 

“No, you’re not. My apologies.” She wanted to make a remark about how rare apologies from Draco Malfoy were, but he continued with only a tad of sarcasm, “I can assure you, Hermione, that Astoria and I didn’t - pay attention to the past tense here, will you? -  have the same relationship as you and Charlie Weasley. I, for example, didn’t send her any books with content too mature for the public part of the library.” 

 

Hermione coughed to cover her surprise at his words and glared at him. 

 

“Don’t look at me like that.” He smirked again. Merlin, was that smirk embedded in his genes? 

 

“Well, even I have an itch to scratch from time to time, but there’s nothing more between us. Charlie wasn’t available, so he thought it funny to send me that book.” 

 

“But it doesn’t compare to the actual act, does it?” He gently turned her head with one finger under her chin, and Hermione was lost in his eyes. His soft touch stood in stark contrast to the topic of their conversation, but she could care less. 

 

“No, of course not,” she almost whispered, hyper-aware of his proximity, his scent, his long lashes. 

 

“I’m going to kiss you now, Hermione.” What was worded like a fact sounded more like a question that Hermione agreed to with a small nod. They both must have moved, for the next thing she remembered were his lips on hers, her eyes fluttering closed. 

 

He was so warm and soft, and she could feel his heart beating through his lips. It was short and sweet, but when Hermione opened her eyes and met Draco’s again, her insides quivered. She saw devotion and curiosity but also lust and smiles and a bit possessiveness. Everything lay open before her, and she had to inhale sharply due to the intensity of it all.

 

Smiling, he interlaced his fingers with hers. “We should probably talk about this, but I’d rather take you dancing now.” 

 

She nodded again, for once not wanting to analyse the situation but rather enjoy it to the fullest, and let herself be pulled up from the bench by Draco. 

 

“I’m all yours, Professor Malfoy.”

 

His grip on her hand tightened. “Merlin, I hope so.”

  
  



	8. A Demonstration Escalation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some smut in this chapter.

Draco loved his job. Really, he did. Where else in the wizarding world could one order witches and wizards to duel without ending up in Azkaban?

 

Before obtaining the teaching position at Hogwarts, he had travelled the world and studied under different Masters. His family’s connection to the Dark Arts had always been there, unreflected, but now he needed a deeper, more cognitive understanding of them to distance himself from certain practices, but also to acquire the skill to handle them with care.

 

Duelling had always been a chance for him to let off some steam, just like Quidditch.  He found both to be equally challenging yet simultaneously relaxing (that is if he won). Though, everyone with some decent hand-eye coordination and balance could be a passable Quidditch player (except Hermione, for whatever reason), but holding a wand didn’t automatically qualify someone for duelling. Still, it was something one could learn. 

 

_ If _ one  _ listened _ to their  _ professor _ .

 

Like  _ some _ students never did. Draco sighed and ended the ‘duel’ between Everton and Prewett. “This is a duel, Prewett. You have to move fast and think even faster. Not like, ‘I have to tie my shoelaces. Wait a moment. Oh, there’s a pretty flower! Let me pluck it for you.’”

 

The other students standing nearby laughed, but Draco was having none of it.

 

“Do you see me laughing?” He pointed to his face. No laugh. Not even a smirk. The perfect mask of Malfoyness. “No, because it  _ isn’t _ funny.” Draco folded his arms behind his back and lowered his voice for effect. If he had learned anything from Snape, it was that a low voice often had a bigger effect on students than shouting over their voices (and: flouncing).

 

“This subject is called  _ Defense Against the Dark Arts _ . Of course, I hope you’ll never get involved in a real duel when you leave school. But I can’t guarantee that. So I’m doing my best to teach you how to identify and categorise dangerous and dark magic, and how you can defensively and offensively react to it, if need be.” He unfolded his arms and gestured at his students. “But too many of you treat duelling practice like Exploding Snap or Quidditch, like a game you can win but is also okay to lose from time to time.” Of course, Draco was over exaggerating a bit, but he wanted to convey a message: that some things you learned at school could save your life one day. Especially when in a society that handed everyone a stick of wood one could easily kill with.

 

“But we’re always fighting against our classmates... I’ve never seen a real duel,” Prewett spoke up, and Draco thought the boy had a point. Even with this range of students ages, they had exclusively practised one learner duelling another.

 

Draco wasn’t one of those teachers who ignored pupils’ critiques or was even felt insulted by them. He took their remarks seriously when adequately and politely voiced.  

 

“I can’t deny you have a point here. Would a demonstration help?” Nods all around. “Then I believe you’ll have a treat in store next class.” Now, he smirked. Because he had always wanted this special duel. 

 

This would be much bigger than Potter as a duelling partner. 

 

This would be  _ his  _ witch.

 

* * *

 

It had been surprisingly easy to get Hermione to agree to the duel the next day. The competitive gleam in her eyes and her mischievous smile, along with her, “This is going to be so much fun!” made him worry that she may enjoy this a bit too much. 

 

As for that ‘thing’ happening between them, they were taking their time. Except for the occasional snog in the evening hours, it was all very innocent. And Draco was surprised by himself that he was honestly content with that. He couldn’t recall any other time that the progression in one of his relationships (at least, the physical part of it) had been so slow. Maybe he was getting old. Or simply mature. They hadn’t even talked about labelling the slow shift between them, even if they probably should have by now, but instead, they wanted to see where it took them. His eighteen years old self would’ve probably thought him crazy. Because his attraction to the witch was definitely there. 

 

But for now, Draco put all the thoughts of snogging and emotional stuff aside because he had a duel to win.

 

“Some explanations before we start,” he announced to the keen mass of observing students.  Even students who weren’t getting remediation in Defense Against the Dark Arts had shown up for the event, word spreading quickly about what was about to occur this afternoon. “You all see that line?” Draco pointed his wand at the shimmering barrier that separated the students from the duelling area in the middle of his classroom. “This is where you will stay behind. We drew wards and enchantments so you will be protected from stray hexes and such. Furthermore, you can see Professor Granger and I are wearing sports attire. In an actual duel, you can’t change into something comfortable before the first curse hits you. But in this demonstration, we want to educate you, so you should pay close attention to our movements and posture.” 

 

He heard an older girl comment, probably not as quiet as she would have liked, “Don’t worry, I’m paying very close attention to your body, Professor Malfoy.” 

 

“Yes, I know that, Miss Weaver, but you should favour my wand arm movements over my bum in your observations, if you are so kind?” Giggling erupted all around.

 

He was in no position to judge because he was quite sure Hermione had chosen her clothes to distract him. Her tank top and leggings weren’t immodest or unprofessional in any way, but, Salazar, he wanted to see what was hidden beneath the layer of fabric clinging to her skin. With her hair in a high ponytail and the rest of her curls magically suspended, she looked like the personification of determined.

 

“Are we ready, Professor Malfoy?” she asked, her lips forming a smile and every syllable a challenge. 

 

He slowly raised his wand in the formal greeting before smiling back at her. “Obviously.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as the first spell was spoken, Hermione and Draco forgot that there were other people in the room, and the world narrowed down to only the two of them.

 

“ _ Expelliarmus! _ ” Hermione, like the Gryffindor she was, opened the confrontation. Draco deflected it with a shield spell, almost lazily firing back.

 

“ _ Tarantallegra! _ ” easily got deflected by Hermione. They were only getting to know each other’s moves. Because even if they had quite a few confrontations at school, it had been years they had seen each other in a situation like this.

 

Draco smoothly side-stepped Hermione’s Bat Bogey Hex but was surprised when an “ _ Anteoculatia! _ ” followed only a split second later, forcing him to let himself fall flat on the floor because he wasn’t all too keen on growing antlers. Despite this, he grinned. She was a genius, after all, and he should have known better than to underestimate his opponent. 

 

But so should she. From his position on his stomach, he sent a “ _ Liquidus! _ ” to the floor right behind her feet, causing her to jump forward to avoid the fall into the liquified mass he had created. The jump brought her closer to him, and he used the opportunity to pull her knees out from under her. 

 

With a heavy  _ thump,  _ Hermione landed on her back right next to him. She made an angry noise and didn’t waste another second to push herself up again, but not without casually elbowing him in the back and grinning triumphantly at Draco’s pained grunt.

 

From then on, the students - yes, they still were there - had problems following the hexes, charms, and other spells that seemed to blend together. The two professors both gave as good as the got, drawing from their personal repertoire of magic and physical tricks.

 

Exhilaration and joy coursed throughout Hermione’s body, along with a newfound admiration of Draco’s skills that caused magic to prickle under her skin that had nothing to do with spells and wands. Two key personality traits of Draco had come together unexpectedly: his suave and controlled pureblood manner mixed with the passionate, powerful, and so damn spellbinding (pun intended) man he was to her - a lethal combination. Lethal for the humidity status in her knickers, especially. But that could also have been the sweat pouring down her back.

 

Draco’s brain wasn’t in a much better state because he was caught between defending himself, giving her a taste of his capabilities, and being in awe of her fierceness and creativity. She combined raw, magical power and her own body to fight him. She was a goddess.

 

After what could have been twenty minutes or two hours, Draco thought he had finally overpowered Hermione. He had one arm slung around her from behind, and the hand of the other was pressing the tip of his wand against her throat.

 

Just when he wanted to announce his victory, he felt Hermione’s wand poke against his ribs, aimed right at his heart. The witch had apparently wriggled one arm free. They had landed themselves in a draw. 

 

Hermione felt his breath hot against her neck, causing her to shiver viscerally. She had to close her eyes for a moment, gathering her bearings. Damn the effect he had on her. Her pulse was hammering against her ribcage, and every heavy breath caused his chest to press against her back, making her want to turn in his arms and - 

 

“That should be enough, don’t you think?” she whispered.

 

His answering nod made his nose rub against her ear, and her knees wobbled. “I suppose.” His voice was as husky as hers.

 

He released her and she pulled her wand away, turning towards him. Still running high on adrenaline and magic, they both made a small bow, signalling the formal end of the duel. 

 

“This is how you complete a duel with two equally strong partners. A draw is not as triumphant as a win, but a very good way to finish.” Draco’s eyes didn’t leave Hermione when he ordered, “I expect an analysis from all of you by tomorrow. Thank you for your attention. We sincerely hope you enjoyed the lesson.” 

 

The students, in awe, left the room, understanding his words as dismissal and whispering to each other excitedly. Though, the two adults could only decipher that based on the background noises, because they couldn’t take the eyes off of each other, both still heavily panting, their skin flushed.

 

Without making the conscious decision to do so, Draco raised his wand to lock and silence the room. 

 

“That was-” he started but trailed off, searching for the adequate description. 

 

“Intense?”

 

“Yes,” he admitted proudly. “We’re quite evenly matched. I can’t remember the last time someone was so close to my skill in a duel. You’re impressive.” 

 

Hermione smiled nervously at his praise, suddenly realising they were only a few inches away from each other. She could still feel the heat of his body radiating from him. But she was even more captivated by the waves of something else rolling off him, and if Hermione wasn’t mistaken by his tense posture and his almost black eyes, it was pure, intense lust. 

 

Lust for her.

 

That thought alone was intoxicating.

 

“Does this mean the great Defense Master will fall to my feet now?” she asked coyly.

 

“No.” 

 

“No? That’s rather-” 

 

And then his lips were on hers, his hands were on the back of her head, and his tongue was entangled with her own. Hermione grabbed his t-shirt, reaching around to put her hands on his shoulder blades, pulling him even closer into her.

 

This felt different than their past snogging. More passionate, more dominating, more everything.

 

It was foreplay, and they both knew it. 

 

“Give me a bit to shower, and I will get on my knees and between your legs, not to your feet.” Draco more groaned than spoke against her neck, his wandering hands skimming the naked skin above her waistband.

 

She pushed his shirt up, signalling him to pull it off. “A Refreshing Charm will have to do. We’ve got forty minutes til dinner.” 

 

“You’re so romantic,” he chuckled and cupped one of her breasts. 

 

She hissed in surprise. “I’m practical.” 

 

“I am, too,” Draco said in between kisses and vanished both of their clothing, making her gasp when she suddenly felt his naked skin on hers. Without a pause, he lifted her, her legs automatically wrapping around his hips. She wanted to take a closer look at him, but she was too far gone in her need. 

 

One leftover rational thought crossed her hazy mind, and she knew it was important to voice it. “I’m on the potion,” she moaned against his lips as he carried her over to his office, the evidence of his arousal prodding hard and heavy against her bum. 

 

“That’s the second sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

 

And she believed him.

 

A bit ungracefully, Draco sat Hermione on his desk, not even flinching when several rolls of parchment, a few books, and an almost full ink bottle crashed to the ground. He had more important things to do now. 

 

Like going down on the witch in front of him. 

 

Slowly, Draco traced his tongue over Hermione’s collarbones, down to the valley between her breasts, stopping only to give each perfect nipple a small kiss. The yearning noises she gave were making him even harder. His hands wandered from her knees, over the thighs she instinctively spread for him, towards her centre. Carefully, he caressed her outer lips, finding her hot and wet and so ready for him. He wanted to taste her so badly, but when he started to lower himself to his knees, Hermione grabbed his face with both hands.

 

“No, not this time. I want… I need -“ She felt almost feverish in her desire to have him inside her.

 

“What do you need, Hermione?” His tone alone had her almost coming. He stood between her legs now, and she couldn’t remember ever wanting a man so much.  

 

“I need  _ you _ ” -- she grabbed his hard cock and stroked it two, three times before positioning it at her entrance, making him moan and her even wetter -- “to fill me.” 

 

And that he did when he slipped into her after slightly bending his knees. 

 

“With pleasure,” he groaned. 

 

They learned and taught a lot in the following nineteen minutes. Hermione taught Draco how she wanted her nipples sucked, but didn’t like his teeth on them. Draco learned that when Hermione came, she wasn’t vocal, but instead became silent in her ecstasy, her eyes closed in bliss and her pussy gripping him so tightly he knew he couldn’t have handled sex with her at eighteen. 

 

He taught her how he loved when her gentle caresses over his neck contrasted with his hard thrusts. And Hermione learned that when he finally spilled himself into her, he made a low, moaning noise that was so erotic, she had another orgasm that had every nerve in her body singing.

 

The afterglow was strangely romantic. After wandlessly cleaning them up, Hermione rested her head against Draco’s shoulder, his arms enclosing her. He mindlessly and reverently played with her curls while she drew small circles against his lower back.

 

“So,” she began after a while, “being a responsible adult for taking a contraceptive and disease preventing potion is only the  _ second _ sexiest thing I’ve said to you so far? What is number one then?”

 

He chuckled warmly. “Well, roughly twenty minutes ago, I would have said it was ‘As you see, I’m _ very wet  _ right now’ when you came to my door after the water bucket incident.”

 

She laughed, knowing she would have to recreate this scene for him one day, though with a different outcome. “And now?”

 

“I am very proud that I didn’t come after two seconds like a fumbling teenager when you said you wanted me to fill you.” He smirked, running a finger over the heated flesh between her legs.

 

She breathed in sharply, but retaliated, “You think that was the best I can do? Are you challenging me, Professor Malfoy?” 

 

“Of course. Don’t I always?” Despite his seductive words, Draco gently lifted her off his desk, winking. “But first, we have a hoard of hungry pupils who will ask questions if their professors don’t show up for dinner.”

 

Hermione laughed and started dressing, but not without stealing some kisses from Draco and unabashed glances at his body. She honestly couldn’t wait to continue their _private_ _staff meeting_ later that evening. 


	9. Surprise, Surprise!

  
  


“I can’t believe we only have one week left,” Draco sighed in greeting when he entered Hermione’s office. 

 

The witch looked up from her desk where she put the finishing touches on the summer students’ last essays and their progress reports.

 

“At the beginning, you always think summer holidays are so unbelievingly long, until you find yourself preparing for the first day of term and asking yourself where the time has gone.”

 

Draco stepped around her desk and looked over her shoulder, curious. “How did the students do on their last tests compared to our initial diagnoses?” 

 

Hermione beamed at him. “I think we can be quite proud of them. Matthews even scored an Outstanding on his last Charms essay, and Stevens brewed a faultless Pepper Up from memory yesterday.” 

 

Draco whistled. “What about Jacob Higgins? I have a feeling he has adapted well to his modified teaching.“ He leaned closer and was now standing directly beside her.

 

“Absolutely. Although, I think the real challenge will come when it’s not only us teaching him. I’m not entirely sure every colleague of ours will be as open to the necessary adjustments.” Hermione shivered when she thought about updating Snape with the news. Or maybe she shivered because of Draco, who had placed one warm hand on her neck in a gesture that was as caring as it was mildly dominating. This was nearly enough to make her want to lift her light summer skirt and beg him to bend her over the closest surface.

 

From the corner of her eye, she saw him smirking. The git knew exactly what he did to her. But two could play this game. 

 

“The good thing is, I’m done with the paperwork now.” Hermione pushed herself away from the desk but remained seated to stretch casually. But in this case, stretching meant arching her back and pushing her breasts forward so Draco could take a very good look at them. 

 

“Another good thing is that I just saw the last of our dear pupils to the Floo or portkey so they can spend their final weak at home.” His voice had taken a distinctively seductive hue, and he made his intention even clearer when he cupped her breasts from behind. 

 

“So I take it that means we have the entire castle to ourselves?” she asked innocently.

 

Draco made a humming noise that qualified as a yes while his lips were busy trailing kisses down her neck. 

 

“No locking doors? No silencing charms?” 

 

“Correct. You can scream my name as loud as you want while I take you in the middle of the library. Or the Great Hall. Or wherever and whenever you want. And trust me, I  _ will _ make you scream.”  

 

“Sounds like a  _ very _ good idea.” 

 

His hands inched under the hem of her dress, and she arched back even more, arms reaching up to his neck, wanting him closer. Instinctively, Hermione started to open her legs to give him better access.

 

That was when the door flew open.

 

“Here you are! I’ve searched-” Minerva McGonagall stopped mid-sentence, her cat-like eyes scrutinizing the scene in front of her, her hand still on the door handle. 

After blinking in shock for a second, Draco and Hermione pulled their arms and hands back to themselves like they had been burnt. They didn’t say a word because really, this time, things were  _ exactly _ as they seemed.

 

“How long has this been going on?” the Headmistress asked, her voice calm and even. 

 

“Four weeks,” Draco replied and settled his hands back on Hermione’s shoulders. 

 

Blushing, her heart beat faster at his strange protectiveness. The Headmistress acknowledged his answer with a curt nod. 

 

“And hello, Severus. Did you have a good summer?” the blond continued conversationally, and only then, Hermione saw the Potions Master standing behind Minerva.

 

“It was as to be expected.” 

 

After that pleasant exchange of words, the Headmistress cleared her throat. “Alright then. I’ll see you at dinner and leave you two to your well-deserved free time.” Hermione could swear she saw her lips curl up at those words.

 

What she was entirely sure of, however, was the whispered conversation between Minerva and Severus on their way out of Hermione’s office.

 

“See, I told you it was a good decision to convince the Sorting Head to pick them. Our matchmaking worked. They only needed a slight shove in the right direction.” 

 

“You still owe me fifty Galleons, Minerva. He said four weeks, not three.” 

 

Then, the door got firmly closed.

 

Hermione and Draco looked at each other briefly before breaking out in howling laughter.

 

“They know, now, huh?” she stated after a while, still wheezing.

 

“I don’t really care. Or did you want to keep me secret?” Draco asked, and his smile had that slight tilt of insecurity that made Hermione aware that he was being serious.

 

“No, Draco.” She stood and leaned against her desk, taking his hands in hers and connecting her gaze with his. He needed to know she was sincere. “It’s just... we haven't really talked about what happens after the holidays are over. I… don’t want  _ us _ to be over.” 

 

The tension fell from his face. “Neither do I,” he confessed.

 

They kissed, shortly and sweetly, as if sealing an important deal.  _ Their  _ deal.

 

“And now?”

 

Draco smirked wickedly. “Now, we continue what we started.” His fingers travelled over her jaw before his thumb pillowed her bottom lip in an unmistakably sexual way. “And then we’re telling Old McG we’re only going to need one quarter from now on.” 

 

Before Hermione could process what he was suggesting and voicing her agreement on it, she was interrupted by her own squeal when Draco pulled at her knees and laid her flat against the desk. 

 

One could probably hear her screaming in ecstasy throughout the entire castle, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

* * *

 

 

Exactly one week later, Hermione and Draco accompanied the students from London to Hogwarts. They had spent the morning strolling through Diagon Alley and running some necessary last errands -- like buying three tons of books at Flourish and Blotts.

 

And when the Hogwarts Express had left King’s Cross, the two of them did rounds, welcomed the students back, and calmed down the nervous first years.

 

One encounter especially made her laugh.

 

“How was your summer, Professor Granger? Did you get my postcard from the Maldives?” a now sixth year girl asked.

 

“Oh, I have it on good knowledge her summer was as good as Professor Malfoy’s!” Fiona Wood commented from the other side of the compartment, clapping her hand to her mouth in shock when she realised what she had said.

 

Hermione smiled at the young witch. “It’s okay, Fiona. We  _ all _ had a wonderful time for sure.” Fiona blushed slightly.

 

“So you were at Hogwarts?”

 

At this moment, Draco passed the compartment, not without throwing Hermione a wink.

 

“Yes, I was at Hogwarts,” she answered the girl’s question. “And it was one of the best summers I ever had. You could bet on it.”

  
  



End file.
